
Glass t 

Book 

Copyright H! 



CQEHUGHT DEPOSIT. 




JAMES KENNEDY. 



The 

Complete Scottish 

AND 

American Poems 



., 



OF ■>--'• 



JAMES KENNEDY 




New York : 

J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 

57 Rose Street. 






Copyright 1883, 1888, 1899, 1907 and 1920 

By 

James Kennedy 



a K 27 ic:j 






i 




PROEM. 

OME, Muse of Scotland ! spread thy wing 
Like wild bird seaward journeying; 
Leave thy loved land, to which belongs 
The riches of thy matchless songs; 
Come in thy splendor, fair and free, 
Like morning o'er the shining sea! 
I long to see thy beauteous face, 
And mark thy wild and winsome grace ; 
And catch, perchance, some kindling thrill 
Of that divine, impassioned skill 
Which flamed into immortal fire, 
When Coila's minstrel tuned the lyre, 
And swept its thrilling chords along 
In bursts of sweet, ecstatic song. 

What though fair Scotland's hills and streams 

I see not but in airy dreams ; 

Thy glowing presence aye shall be 

A joyous all-in-all to me. 

By thee, as by the green-robed Spring, 

The wilds shall burst to blossoming, 

And silent solitudes shall be 

Awake with warbled melody. 

By thee, as by a vision bright, 

The vacant waste of viewless night 

Shall open to my wondering eyes 

The glowing earth, the azure skies, 

The purple mountains crowned with mist, 

Isles set in seas of amethyst. 

And all the artless words and ways 

That mark'd the course of earlier days, 

Shall come revived on Fancy's wing 

All bright in fond imagining. 



IV PROEM. 

Nor shall we lack, as on we trip, 

For gay and glad companionship ; 

For rosy Mirth, with beaming eyes, 

Shall laugh at Folly's thin disguise; 

While Truth's light, quenchless as a star, 

Shines, beacon-like, where'er we are. 

And thou, fair Virtue — crowning grace, 

Sweet as the smile on Beauty's face — 

O may the quenchless love of thee 

Our master motive ever be ! 

While through and through each simple song, 

The love of right, the hate of wrong, 

Dwell with the hope that dimly sees 

The dawn of broader sympathies : 

Glow in the faith that faintly hears, 

A far-off music in our ears, 

When all the barriers that divide 

The human race are swept aside, 

And man with brother man shall be 

Bless'd in a happy unity. 

Then come, sweet spirit ! Lend thy power. 

Be near me in my dreaming hour ! 

Shed thou thy lustrous light around, 

And all shall seem enchanted ground ! 

Inspire me and my verse shall be 

A river shining to the sea ! 

That bears upon its bosom bright 

A mirror' d world of life and light, 

And adds to Nature's varied tone 

A low, sweet music all its own. 



CONTENTS 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE 

PAGE 

Introduction 9 

Part I. The March over the Cumberland Mountains 14 

Part II. The Campaign in Eastern Tennessee 19 

Part III. The Siege of Knoxville 24 

Part IV. The Defense of Fort Sanders 29 

MISCELLANEOUS 

To the Humming Bird 35 

To the Mosquitoes 37 

Whisky's Awa' 40 

Auld Scotia in the Field 42 

Noran Water : 44 

Wee Charlie 48 

To My Native Land 50 

Angus Rankin's Elegy 52 

St. Andrew and the Haggis 55 

The Monk and the Spectre 57 

Lament on the Departure of a British Poet 59 

Elegy on the Death of a Scottish Athlete 62 

To the Shade of Burns 66 

The Songs of Scotland 68 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Refugees 71 

The Two Brothers .. 77 

Among the Grampian Hills 81 

Among the Catskill Mountains 83 

In Memoriam. J. C. M 85 

SONGS 

The Bonnie Lass That's Far Awa' 86 

Cam' Ye Owre the Fulton Ferry? 87 

Mary, Do Ye Mind the Day? 88 

Now Simmer Deeds the Groves in Green 89 

Mary wi' the Gowden Hair 90 

Bonnie Noranside 91 

Bonnie Jean 92 

1 Wonder if the Bonnie Laddie Thinks on Me 93 

LYRICAL CHARACTER SKETCHES 

The Lecturer 96 

The Play- Actor 99 

The Peddler 102 

The Inventor 104 

The Curler 106 

The Quoit Players 109 

The Cavalier 115 

The Minister-Daft 118 

The Spiritualist 120 

The Feast of MacTavish 125 

The Western Waif 130 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

The Poacher 133 

The Deeside Lass 137 

The Mournfu' Mither 139 

The Wife o' Weinsberg 141 

The Dominie and the Betheral 144 

The Americanized Scot 147 

The Royal Scot 151 

The Wanderer 155 



OCCASIONAL VERSES 

A Dedication 156 

In the Golden Cage 157 

To Queen Alexandra 169 

To Mrs. J. M. R 170 

Robert Buchanan 171 

Alexander J. C. Skene 173 

In God We Trust 175 

MISCELLANEOUS 

At Bannockburn 177 

In New England 180 

Robert Burns 183 

In Brooklyn 185 

Our Lady Margaret 187 

Annie Anderson 188 

To My Niece Jessie 189 

Neil MacDonald's Elegy 191 

The Departed 193 



viii CONTENTS 

IN THE WORLD WAR TIME 

PAGE 

The Call of the War Pipe 195 

Scotland in the War 199 

Here's to the Highlands! 200 

Willie an' Jean 201 

In Memoriam, K. K 202 

Over the Top With Tommy 203 

In Memoriam, R. B. K 205 

In Picardy 207 

The Armistice 209 

The Triumph 211 

LATER LYRICAL CHARACTER SKETCHES 

Piper MacPhee 213 

Sandy MacQuill 217 

The Chaplain 219 

The Highland Crofter 223 

The Mill Lassie 225 

The Farm Lad 227 

The Ploughman 229 

Notes 231 

Glossary 237 



SCOTTISH AND AMERICAN POEMS. 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

" How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest! " 

—Collins. 



INTRODUCTION. 

lTi TOW brightly through the vanish'd years 
W± The light of Scotland's fame appears! 

Now flashed through clouds that faintly mar, 

Now glitt'ring, like the Polar star 

That burns in Northern glory, bright 

In inextinguishable light! 

In Time's dim dawning when the world 
Beheld Rome's banner broad unfurl' d 
And Caesar's legions proudly pass'd, 
Fierce as the cyclone's leveling blast, 
O'er lands where freemen battling brave 
Bent 'neath the wild, resistless wave : 
O Scotland, then thy stalwart race 
Defied earth's conquerors face to face; 
In vain the cohorts' fierce attack, 
Thy brandish'd broadswords beat them back, 
And Rome's proud legions learned to fear 
Th* unconquered Caledonian spear. 



10 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

But darker fate awaits the bands 
Of Vikings from their Northern strands 
Who, lured by conquest's golden smiles, 
Swarm bird-like on the Scottish isles. 
In vain Norwegian maidens weep 
For lovers slain beyond the deep; 
In vain the blazing beacons burn 
For them who never more return; 
In restless sobs the lonely waves 
Sigh o'er their dark, unnoticed graves. 

But brighter yet thy luster shone, 
O Scotland ! when thy Marathon 
Beheld the bold invading host 
Strewn like the flowers in early frost; 
Thy crystal streams with blood ran red, 
Thy green fields heaped with England's dead; 
While Freedom's happy wings expand 
Triumphant o'er thy war-worn land; 
Whilst thou in Glory's sacred height 
Becom'st a high set beacon light, 
To which, when angry tempests lower, 
And nations grope in Fate's dark hour, 
Their streaming eyes shall northward turn 
And think of thee and Bannockburn ! 

Nor less each lurid flash that shows 
The wars of fratricidal foes ; 
The raids of lowland cavaliers, 
The feuds of martial mountaineers, 
The musket flash that vainly stays 
The Covenanter's psalm of praise, 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 11 

The blows of force by faith defied, 
The gold of Truth in battle tried, 
The radiant streaks that chase away 
The shadows of a darker day. 



These come, and through each age there runs, 

From stalwart sires to stalwart sons, — 

Deep set in an eternal youth, — 

The same strong love of right and truth, 

The lion heart/ the iron hand, 

That kept intact their native laud, 

Until her mountains seem to be 

High monuments to liberty ; 

Her silv'ry waters flash along 

And murmur into martial song, 

Her storms that sweep the rustling dales 

Bring echoes of heroic tales, 

And ev'n the gray cloud-mantled glades 

Seem haunted by heroic shades, 

And all seem vocal with the sound 

Of deeds that made them hallowed ground. 

Nor there alone where Scotland stands 

Enwreathed by Freedom's loving bands 

Has valor's royal wreath been won; 

But far and near, where'er the sun 

Has shone on battle's bold array, 

On many a fierce and fateful day, 

Have Lowland might and Highland zeal 

Been writ in blood and carved with steel, 

Till o'er the din of wild alarms 

Had trnimph crown'd their conquering arms* 



1% THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

Ev'n here, where Freedom's beacon light 
Shines o'er Columbia broad and bright, 
And gladden' d nations turn to see 
The starry flag of Liberty, 
Whose breezy folds in peace unfurl'd 
Wave welcome to a wond'ring world: 
When mad Disunion's threatening hand 
Crept like a shadow o'er the land, 
And hostile States in war's alarms 
Rang with the clarion call to arms ; 
Then, mustered with the loyal North, 
A thousand Scots went bravely forth; 
The flash of Freedom in their eyes, 
And, fierce and wild as battle cries, 
The war songs of their native land 
Were echoed by the gallant band 
In days of battle and of toil 
O'er fair Virginia's war-worn soil; 
Or roused to life the listless camps 
By Carolina's dreary swamps; 
Or rose serene in triumph grand 
Among the hills of Maryland ; 
And oft inspired the martial ranks 
By Mississippi's reedy banks; 
And swelled the anthems of the free 
Among the vales of Tennessee. 

By tangled brake and spreading plain, 
In many a hard and wild campaign; 
O'er trampled fields where grass grew red 
Beside the grim and ghastly dead, 
They met and fought the gallant South 
Unwavering to the cannon's mouth; 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 13 

Such feats as graced these years along 

Were fitting for heroic song ; — 

For Poesy's highest aim should be 

To sing of Love and Liberty; 

The love that through obstruction tries 

To blossom into sacrifice : 

The love that burns till life expires, 

With soul aflame, like altar fires. 

Theirs was the high heroic zeal, 

The noble love that patriots feel. 

Who see beyond the present strife 

The paths that lead to nobler life : 

Who feel the fiery blast that brings 

The truth, like gold, from grosser things; 

And know however dark the sky 

The stars still shine serene on high. 

And theirs the cause that strongly stood 

Alone for human brotherhood ; 

They fought that Freedom might not seem 

To be but as an airy dream ; 

Their manly hearts and hands maintained 

The peace the Puritans had gained; 

They fought earth's fairest land to save, 

And all men had to give they gave 

That their adopted land might be 

United still from sea to sea. 

Their task is done — our land receives 
The ripe reward — the golden sheaves 
Of Peace that gladdens happy hours, 
And Freedom garlanded with flowers. 
Their honored lives ennobled need 
No trumpet blast to tell each deed. 



14 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

One flag, one people, and one land 
Their monuments united stand. 

But oft these martial scenes return, 
In mem'ry's eye the camp fires burn; 
In day-dreams oft unbidden come 
The bugle call, the roll of drum, 
The gleam of steel, the grand parade, 
The musket flash, the cannonade, 
The rallying cheer, the ringing shout, 
The charge terrific and the rout, 
The onward march till — perils past, 
The healing calm of Peace at last. 

Thus may the tuneful Muse rehearse 
One brief campaign in simple verse, 
And tell how, wreath' d in fire and smoke, 
God's voice in battle thunder spoke. 
And taught those truths more dearly prized 
That are by blood and tears baptized, 
And oft reverberate sublime 
Along each echoing arch of time. 



PART I. 



THE MARCH OVER THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 

Where Cumberland's green mountains rise 

'Neath fair Kentucky's opal skies, 

The hazy mist hangs ghostly white 

Around each leafy covered height, 

And veils the silent solitudes 

Of frowning crags and solemn woods; 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 15 

The towering peaks are dimly seen 

Like islands looming darkly green ; 

But now the eastern headland's fringe 

Is touched as by a fiery tinge, 

And, flash' d twixt headlands far away, 

The first glad gleam of dawning day 

Illumes the hills of somber hue 

With sudden gleams of sparkling dew; 

Each tender leaflet seems afire, 

Each springing spike a burnished spire, 

Each bending bough, with dewdrops wet, 

Seems now with silver spangles set; 

And mark the varied hues that rise, 

Bewildering in their dazzling dyes, 

Till shrub and tree, like flow 'rets, show 

Fair fragments of the rainbows glow 

Some clad in scarlet rich and rare, 

Glow bright as watch fires here and there ; 

Some gayly deck'd in garnish' d gold 

Their yellow wealth of leaves unfold; 

There as by fairy fingers swung, 

The wavy fringework tassel-hung 

Links bough to bough till, grandly graced, 

Tree, shrub and flower are interlaced, 

And all above, around, beneath, 

Is one vast variegated wreath. 

Fail flow'rets, Nature's brightest gems; 

Gleam star-like on their glossy stems, 

The cluster' d fruit shines overhead 

Rich as at royal banquet spread ; 

Sweet echoes catch the warbled notes 

That gush from song-birds' mellow throats; 



16 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

The fragrant incense of the morn 
Steals on the sense by soft winds borne % 
Aloft the burnish' d broad expanse 
Of sapphire meets the upward glance, 
Like seas by sunlit glory seen, 
Far spread, resplendent and serene. 

O Nature ! in thy lovely moods, 
Deep hid in sylvan solitudes, 
How meet that Peace supremely blest 
In calm content with thee should rest ! 
How distant seem the cares, the strife, 
The ills that haunt frail human life ! 
How far remote seems war's red flood, 
The sickening sight of human blood ! 
Thou in thy God-like splendor set, 
Art free from care and dull regret. 
No sorrow dims thy radiant eyes, 
No longings vex thy soul with sighs; 
Thou holdest thy unswerving course, 
Still strong as from thy primal source 
Thou, clad in majesty serene, 
Enrob'st the earth in shining green ! 
What carest thou though near thy throne 
Amid these mountains wild and lone, 
With blare of trump and beat of drum, 
The long embattled columns come? 
While o'er the flower-enameled knolls 
The brazen cannon rudely rolls; 
And echoing far by woody ways 
The foam -fleck' d war-horse wildly neighs; 
While lumbering on in slow advance 
The heavy-laden ambulance 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 17 

Comes dust-enwrapped as in a cloud 
And sorrow-freighted as a shroud. 

Yet, sooth, it is a gallant sight 

To mark as on from height to height 

The moving squadrons, now revealed, 

And now by leafy shades concealed, 

March bravely onward, while the gleam 

Of arms are glittering as a stream, 

That ever ceaseless in its flow, 

Goes flashing to the vale below. 

No garish pomp or grand display, 

That marks a civic holiday 

With gorgeous show of bold pretence, 

But resolute intelligence 

Along the martial ranks is seen, 

In sober manhood's modest mien. 

There with the far-assembled host, 

The Scots lead on in honor's post. 

See how they gaze in glad surprise 

As through fond memory's dreamy eyes 

The scenes their happy boyhoods knew 

In Scotland's Highlands rise to view! 

To them that towering peak is now 

The bold Ben Lomond's lofty brow, 

Or high Schiehallion's rugged height, 

Though tears bedim the gladsome sight. 

"What though fair Scotland's hills ne'er knew 

Such glowing tints of rainbow hue; 

In Fancy's eye the vanish'd years 

Of golden youth such glory wears, 

That all the iridescent sheen , 

Of intermingled gold and green 



18 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

That gilds the mountains of the West 
Is dim beside each purple crest 
That looms in cloudless splendor high, 
Transfigured bright in memory's eye. 

Beside them in the ranks of war 
Are men whose homes are distant far: 
In cities, where the morning laves 
Her beams among the Atlantic waves, 
By fair New England's breezy dales, 
Or Pennsylvania's happy vales; 
And men whose feet in peace had press'd 
The broad, green prairies of the West 
Are there, by one bright hope inspired, 
By Liberty to valor fired. 
Two weary years of battle's chance 
And war's uncertain circumstance, 
Had fail'd to quench the fiery zeal 
That flamed within their hearts of steel. 
Time's changing touch had barely cooled 
The hearts in hard experience schooled, 
Though less of ardor's gallant show 
Shone through the silent soul below, 
As rivers flowing fast and free 
Grow calmer as they near the sea. 

March on, brave soldiers ! yours the cause 
That looks not for the loud applause 
That greets the victor of the hour; 
Your prize is right's unfading flower 
That springs from Virtue's fruitful seeds, 
And blossoms into noble deeds. 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 19 

Your feet are hastening on the path 

That leads where Wrong poured forth her wrath, 

Because fair Tennessee abhorred 

To draw Rebellion's ruthless sword. 

Strong in her faith and tried her worth 

She stands unfaltering with the North, 

And through long hours of sorrow drawn 

She waiteth for the golden dawn. 

She knows the battles you have fought, 

The triumphs which your arms have wrought. 

Your march is music to her ears, 

She hails your coming on with cheers 

That echo joyous, far and free, 

In every vale of Tennessee. 



PART II. 

THE CAMPAIGN IN EASTERN TENNESSEE. 

They who have seen the sad, pale trace 
Of sorrow on the wasted face, 
When slow disease had worn away 
Fair beauty's bloom to dull decay; 
And mark'd the first returning gleam 
Of health that, bright as morning's beam, 
Which tinges with ethereal light 
The gloomy shadows of the night; 
And saw how sweetly, calmly fair 
Hope came and dwelt serenely there, 
Has seen such trace of light and shade 
As rapine's ruthless hand had made, 
When Hope exultant rose at last 
Triumphant o'er the woeful past 



20 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

And spoke of Peace that was to be 
Again supreme in Tennessee. 

There roofless stands in dark decay 
The happy homes of yesterday; 
The loyal hands are gone that made 
Their dwellings 'neath the maple's shade; 
The prowling fox and wild raccoon 
Dwell by the lonely hearths at noon; 
Uncropt the flowers whose rainbow dyes 
Glow bright as beauty's radiant eyes, 
Unheeded by deserted walks 
They wane and wither on their stalks; 
Untouched the fruit bestrews the sod, 
By happy toiler's feet untrod. 
Yon blacken' d waste with ashes strewn, 
Tells where the waving grain had grown 
Till rude Rebellion's scorching flame 
Had blasted earth where'er it came. 
Yon crumbling pile beside the flood 
Shows where the spanning arch had stood ; 
And far and near on ev'ry hand 
Had havoc marr'd the lovely land 
Whose beauties breath'd but of distress 
In sad, forsaken loneliness. 

The scene is changed. Along the height 
The soldiers see another sight : 
The sheen of steel, the lurid glare 
Of fire that rends the sulph'rous air; — 
The shrieking shells that wrathful fly 
Far-circling through the startled sky, 
While loud and fast the cannons boom 
Their thunders in the gathering gloom! 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 21 

Unfurl the starry flag and march 
Erect, as if yon fiery arch 
Was but some fair triumphal show 
That graced a happy scene below. 
Ye gallant men whose stalwart sires 
First lit bold Freedom's quenchless fires 
In fair New England's broad domains; 
Ye freemen from the Western plains, 
Ye Pennsylvanians tried and true, 
The Koundheads' blood that throbs in you 
Is stirred with all its wonted life 
When Freedom calls to armed strife ! 
Mark where along yon wooded height 
The Scots rush headlong to the fight; 
A fierce, insatiate fury whets 
Their bristling line of bayonets ! 
Already as, like fire, they go 
Eesistless on th' astonished foe, 
A nameless terror wildly starts 
A panic in the foemen's hearts. 
Charge boldly on their wavering lines ! 
Charge while yon sun resplendent shines ! 
His parting smile, ere comes the night, 
Dwells like a halo round the height, 
And lends the splendors of the sky 
To gild the Union victory I 

Onward the victors march nor pause 
To count each fight in Freedom's cause; 
They feel no pride in fields like these, 
No charm in vict'ries won with ease. 
But, bright as sunbeams through a cloud, 
Joy wakes the echoes long and loud; 



%% THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

Each nestling hamlet seems to wake 
To brighter life, and gladly make 
Triumphant wreaths to grace the way 
In one long, happy holiday. 
Cheers rend the air; glad bells are rung; 
Warm welcomes swell from every tongue. 
The teemktg towns send forth their throngs, 
That fill the air with martial songs; 
While music, with its warbled sweets, 
Makes gay the march by crowded streets, 
And brings to mem'ry's longing ear 
Strains that the wanderer loves to hear; — 
Fond echoes from the far-off Ehine 
Come soft as zephyrs, warm as wine ; 
Blythe airs that lead the merry dance 
Among the vine-clad hills of France 
Are there, and sweetly, nobly grand 
The music of my native land 
Comes wild and high as vict'ries' cheers — 
The echoes of a thousand years ! 

Bright days are these and happy nights 
Made glad by Nature's calm delights: 
The gorgeous glow of autumn woods, 
The peace of sylvan solitudes, 
The marchings in the golden noon, 
The bivouacs 'neath the silver moon, 
The civic joy, the social grace, 
The sunshine of the human face, 
These, dream-like, pass in bright surprise, 
Before the soldier's wondering eyes, 
And form, in life's beclouded sky, 
A golden gleam in memory's eye. 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 23 

The dream is past. The waning year 
Has brought November dull and drear. 
The loyal North's victorious ranks 
Rest on their arms by Holston's banks, 
And dream that Eastern Tennessee 
From ruthless rebel hordes is free. 
By day their sheltering huts they raise; 
By night beside the camp-fire's blaze 
They pass the merry jest and song, 
The careless, happy groups among; 
And war's wild ways already seem 
Dim as a half -forgotten dream. 

'Tis midnight, and the slumb'ring camp 
Is still as death — the muffled tramp 
Of cautious foemen clustering near 
Falls faintly on the sentry's ear; 
His rifle speaks — the f oeman comes ! 
Roll out, ye army-rousing drums ! 
Ye bugles blare your wild alarms ! 
Haste, haste, ye loyal men to arms ! 
See by the camp-fire's wavering glare 
The loyal ramrods spring in air ! 
While bright as dewdrops on the heath 
Are bayonets flashing from the sheath! 
In vain your serried lines ye brave, 
Back — back — nor meet yon mighty wave 
That comes in overwhelming force, 
Far spread in its resistless course. 
Back — 'neath the black wings of the night 
The Scots shall hold yon friendly height 
Till, from the baffled foe withdrawn, 
The dim eyes of the doubtful dawn 



24 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

Shall see your brazen batteries crown. 
The forts encircling Knoxville town. 



PART III. 

THE SIEGE OF KNOXVILLE. 

The dark November sky droops down 
Like funeral wreaths on Knoxville town, 
The Holston River steals along ; 
Harsh, mournful murmurs mar its song, 
Its hurrying tide brooks no delay, 
Like one that hastes to be away; 
The hollow winds in eddies meet, 
And, rustling on the lonely street, 
The raindrops borne on whirling wings 
Sweep through the air like living things, 
Or earthward rattle, tempest driven, 
As* twere the volleyed wrath of Heaven. 

Pale faces set in startled stare 

Show in the casements here and there; 

Dumb wonder waits in anxious eyes, 

And fear dwells mute in sad surprise; 

And well they might, for near and far, 

Above the elemental war, 

The cannons crash with thundering boom, 

And lurid flashes light the gloom; 

While through the sulphurous air the flight 

Of shrieking shells appalls the sight, 

Then, bursting on the riven ground, 

They spread new horror all around; 

Each hillside near the startled town 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 25 

With brazen batteries seems to frown ; 

Each rocky cliff its front has lent 

For bastioned tower and battlement; 

The leafy vales where late the flowers 

In beauty bloomed in golden hours, 

The breath of battle seems to feel 

And blossom into blades of steel ; 

And where the wild birds sweet and gay 

Sang many a warbled roundelay, 

Now rings the rifle loud and clear, 

Incessant on the startled ear. 

But mark where through the tempest shines 

The nearer trace of Union lines, 

There loyal hands have trenches made 

And ply the busy pick and spade; 

There the keen ax has felled the trees 

And skillful shaped the arrowy frieze; 

There cautious care has spread her plans 

In firm redoubts and bold redans; 

There breastworks rise and palisade 

And widening embrasures are made, 

Through which the level* d cannons show 

Their mouths toward th' approaching foe. 

The lines are thin for miles along, 
The arms are but three thousand strong; 
But stout in nature's best defense, 
They stand in manly confidence; 
From river bank to heights around 
There lies no unprotected ground; 
No vantage place an opening spreads 
But where the cannon enfilades, 



26 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

And where the western works extend, 
O'er rising slopes and northward bend, 
There on the frowning angle, crown'd 
With crested ramparts guarded round, 
While ample ditch its width expands, 
A double- bastioned fortress stands. 
And silent sentinels, night and day, 
Watch the long, weary hours away; 
Keen-eyed each soldier keeps his post 
And waits the fierce, rebellious host. 
Within, unwavering as a rock, 
The Scots await the battle-shock; 
O'erhead the starry banner streams, 
Around the burnish'd bayonet gleams; 
The distant bursts of smoke and flame 
Are but as passing breeze to them ; 
The bomb flies past on rushing wings 
Unheeded as familiar things; 
The foemen's fire, the gleam of swords, 
Are less to them than idle words; 
Like runners at the starting place 
They wait impatient for the race ; 
Before them, lit by memory's lamp, 
Comes James' Island's ghastly swamp, 
Where, grim before the batteries' breath, 
Their comrades strewed that field of death; 
And vengeance with a fierce desire 
Is burning in their eyes of fire, 
And hope proclaims th 1 approaching day 
That wipes that bloody stain away. 

But weary nights and direful days 
Tempestuous pass their fiery ways; 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 27 

Each morn the weak-eyed sickly sun 
Beholds the fight again begun; 
While near, in ever-narrowing ring, 
The fiery Southrons closer cling. 
Each day adds horrors to the storm 
That gathers round War's wasting form; 
Each night reveals in lurid glare 
Red ruin rend the startled air; 
While from the clouds the deluge keeps 
Unceasing as if heaven weeps, 
Till underneath the trampled grass 
The earth is one black, yielding mass. 
Nor tent nor shelter there is found ; 
The scowling skies, the seething ground, 
And, ghastly as a funeral pyre, 
The nearing arc of ceaseless fire 
That wings in blasts of sulphurous breath 
The swift-winged whizzing bolts of death. 
Then famine, too, with pallid streak 
Begins to mark the wasted cheek, 
And hollow eye that pensive waits 
Submissive to the frowning fates; 
For, uncomplaining of their lot, 
In silence waits each stalwart Scot; 
Like cliffs that guard their native land, 
Around the fateful fort they stand, 
While heaven and earth is, near and far, 
Convulsed in one fierce blast of war. 

At last o'erhead th ethereal blue 
Clear as the eye of Heaven shines through, 
And Winter makes the earth his throne, 
And binds his glitt'ring armor on; 



28 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

Before him, spectral- like and gaunt, 
The waters change to adamant; 
Trees glow in crystal branches bright, 
Shrubs spread in flashing frostwork white, 
Earth sparkles, o'er her marble face 
A wreath of rich embroider' d lace 
In silvery fringework flames as free 
As sunshine on a summer sea. 
The guns are hushed. The air is still. 
The watch-fires gleam along the hill; 
Serene the radiant moon looks down 
Like Pity's eye on Knoxville town; 
The stars in spangling splendor bright 
Illume the calm, broad brow of night ; 
Aloft while they their vigils keep 
The wearied soldiers sink to sleep, 
And fairer, fonder scenes arise 
In beauty to their dreaming eyes; 
Home steals around them and the charms 
Of social joy their life-blood warms; 
The want, the woe of war's wild days, 
Is quenched in dreamland's magic maze; 
Nor winter's frown, nor war's fierce power 
Can rob them of this golden hour. 
Sweet be your dreams as o'er each brow 
Bright memories weave fair fancies now! 
Peace fold you in her gentle wing 
With joy beyond imagining, 
Till happy thrills of gladness bless 
The calm of sweet forgetfulness! 
Dream not that ere to-morrow's sun 
His westward, golden race has run, 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 29 

Hundreds of gallant hearts shall lie 
Cold as the clay 'neath winter's sky ! 
Dream on, for ere yon stars shall fade 
In light by dawning splendor made, 
The furious fires of war shall glow 
In lurid lightning wrath below; 
And foemen, woke to frenzied strife; 
Rush in the bloom of sweet young life 
To death's dull mystery dark and deep, — 
That last, that long and dreamless sleep ! 



PART IV. 

THE DEFENSE OF FORT SANDERS. 

One flash that dims the stars' pale light, 
One crash that rends the ear of night, 
One shell that shrieks in fiendish sport, 
Then bursts exultant near the fort ! 
One bugle-call whose warbled sound 
Brings answering blasts from miles around; 
Then all at once the startled air 
Is quivering with a fitful glare, 
That, quick as northern meteor runs, 
Of fire on fire from answering guns 
That belch their fury harsh and grim 
Along the dark horizon's rim; 
While thick as hail in summer skies 
An iron shower tempestuous flies, 
And striking, bursts in awful light 
Around the fort's embattled height. 
Blow strikes on blow, like steel on steel, 
Till all the riven ramparts reel, 



30 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

As if the forms of fort and plain 
Were crumbling into dust again. 



They pause — the Southern cannoneers-^ 
And now — with ringing yells and cheers, 
Dim as a cloud they form, and then 
A torrent of ten thousand men 
Comes onward in a threatening roar, 
As some wild wave that seeks the shore, 
Or some dark tempest gathering round; 
Earth trembles at the awful sound ; 
The gray gloom glistens ghastly bright, 
As glimmering in the shadowy light, 
The bayonets gleam against the moon, 
Thick as the fireflies flash in June. 
On, on they come, as when the hills 
Are furrowed by a thousand rills, 
And fast the rushing waters flow 
Impetuous to the vale below ; 
Where wild and wide they clear a path, 
Uncheck'd in overflowing wrath, 
Till some bold cliff whose summits show 
Defiance to the waves below ; 
There when the warring waters meet 
They pause and tremble at its feet. 

Fierce from the fort the cannons crash, 
Fast, fast three hundred rifles flash ; 
Heedless and hurrying squadrons pour 
In headlong haste their maddening roar; 
The frenzy spreads, the fury grows; 
The ditch is filled and overflows. 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 31 

Up the steep slope the tide is press' d, 
The flags are planted od the crest ; 
Steel gleams on steel, eye glares on eye, 
Shouts, yells commingled rend the sky; 
Supreme the wave triumphant seems, 
Aloft its crest victorious gleams. 
Splendid it rises in its might 
Above the flashing, bristling height, 
And tremuious hangs as poised in air 
It dwells but for a moment there; 
Backward it rolls as ocean's waves 
Against some headland vainly raves. 
Backward, pierced through by shot or steel, 
The fiery Southrons downward reel ; 
Again the war-worn crest is clear; 
Loud rings the Scot's ecstatic cheer. 

But louder yet the answering yell 
Of furious foes the tumult swell ; 
Again they charge, a fierce, fresh flood, 
Up the red ramparts wet with blood ; 
All the wild wrath of hate they bring; 
Grim as the grasp of death they cling; 
Mass'd on the angle see them swarm 
As wild beasts roused by fierce alarm. 
Throw the death-dealing grenades there; 
Fire the keen rifle till the air 
In thunders hush the dying cry 
Of gallant men who bravely die. 
Rush to the crest, ye stalwart few, 
God's mighty arm shall strike with you ! 
Dash down the foremost in the fray, 
Stand fast and keep the hosts at bay; 



32 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

There let them quench their Southern zeal 
On bristling blades of Northern steel ! 
Quick from their desp'rate hands unclasp 
The flags they hold with iron grasp; 
The stars and stripes alone shall be, 
Above that fortress of the free ! 

The red blood freezes on the slope, 
From dying hands the muskets drop; 
Beneath— the ditch yawns deep and wide 
Where comrades welter side by side ; 
Friends trample o'er them but in vain; — 
Down headlong in the ditch again 
They fall and swell the dying throng, 
Bombs burst the bleeding mass among; 
O'er the deep groans of dark despair 
Shrieks wildly pierce the clamorous air; 
Aloft their bravest and their best 
Meet death in battle on the crest, 
While ceaseless from the mass o'erhead 
Drop down the dying and the dead, 
Till heaped the grave grows ghastly grim 
With dead uncoffin'd to the brim! 

Dim dawn awakes and shadowy light 
Glides ghost-like round th' embattled height; 
The glow of Orient flame shines through 
The sulphurous clouds of mantling blue, 
And gilds the gloom and glorifies 
The fading light of dying eyes, 
Transfiguring with a radiant grace 
The pathos of each pallid face. 



THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 33 

Sweet, tender, tear-eyed Pity seems 
Blent with the morning's golden beams; 
And war's fierce front has gentler grown, 
Or with the doubtful darkness flown. 
The battle ceases and the dawn 
Beholds the shatter 'd host withdrawn; 
Where grim war's fiercest bolts were hurl'd 
Behold the flags of truce unfurled ; 
The living, charging mass is gone, 
The drifts of dead are there alone. 

In stricken silence, sick at heart, 
The shattered Southrons now depart. 
No need is there, though wing'd in haste, 
Grant's conquering legions of the West, 
From Chattanooga's battleground 
They come victorious, laurel-crowned. 
But halt ! roll east like prairie fires, 
Virginia's fields your flame requires, 
The cleansing fires from which shall spring 
The future's fulness blossoming. 
Come not where peace hath now returned, 
Where war's fierce furnace fires have burn'd 
Till purified, fair Freedom's voice 
Makes Tennessee's glad vales rejoice. 
Her trampled fields will bloom again 
With happy wealth of golden grain; 
In nestling towns war's clangors cease 
And rises now the songs of Peace. 

And thou, my own heroic band, 
Bold warriors of my native land, 
Haste where the Northern armies press 
Through green Virginia's wilderness ; 



34 THE HIGHLANDERS IN TENNESSEE. 

Close round where madly, blindly gropes 

Rebellion's last, expiring hopes; 

There grasp once more the war-worn hands 

Where victors and the vanquished stands 

In Peace and Unity again 

On Appomattox' glorious plain. 

And thou, ennobled Scottish dead, 
Light lie the turf on each low head ! 
"Whether thou sleep' st thy sleep serene 
In graves by loving hands kept green, 
Or liest unhonored and unknown 
In lonely wilds by weeds overgrown, 
Thy life, thy worth in battle tried, 
Has made each grave seem sanctified ! 
Earth clasp thee to her silent breast ! 
Calm in her bosom may'st thou rest: 
Thy blood by faith's baptismal grace 
Bedewed, like heart- wrung tears, her face; 
There when the gentle hand of spring 
Her em' raid wreath shall blithely bring 
There let the fairest flow 'rets bloom 
Above, around each hallowed tomb, 
Her voices murmuring your knell, 
The morning cometh — All is well!* 




MISCELLANEOUS. 



Veritatis simplex oratio est. 



TO THE HUMMING BIRD. 

[5) RAW birdie, when in brambly howes, 
Whaur mony a buss entangled grows, 
And bonnie flow'rs in beauty spring, 
I've seen thee fauld thy quivering wing. 
While rapt I stood, amazed to see 
The glowing hues that gleamed on thee — 
The red, the blue, the gowd, the green, 
The pearly gloss, the siller sheen; 
Then quick, ere yet the eager eye 
Had half perceived each dazzling dye, 
Awa' ye fluttered frae the sight, 
Like fire-flaucht in the cloud o' night. 

Sic like 's when in the day's dull thrang 
Time drags the weary hours alang ; 
Bright fancy flashes on the mind 
Some bonnie blink o' wondrous kind — 
Wild glens wi' burnies bick'rin doun, 
Far frae the stoury, noisy toun ; 
Green woods an' sweet secluded dells, 
Whaur silence aye serenely dwells; 
Fond faces — rare auld warks an' ways 
That graced the light o' ither days — 



36 TO THE HUMMING BIRD. 

Come sudden on th' enraptured view, 
Then vanish in a blink — like you. 

But speed thee on thy fairy flight, 
Whaur sweetest blossoms tempt thy sight; 
An' round thee may ilk gladsome thing 
Light as the flaffer o' thy wing 
Aye keep thee blythe, nor aught e'er mar 
The bonnie, braw, wee thing ye are. 
Ower joyed am I when happy chance 
But brings thee in a passing glance. 

Thus come, O Poesy ! grace divine ! 
Come wi' that kindling fire o' thine, 
That lends the dull imaginings 
The beauties of a thousand things; 
And though thy flashing fancies flit, 
Like this wee birdie's restless fit, 
Thy briefest glint shall grandly glow 
As bright as Iris' radiant bow. 




TO THE MOSQUITOES. 

JJT/0ANG-NEBBIT, bizzin', bitin , wretches, 
^— -4 That fire my skin wi' blobs an' splatches; 
Till vex'd wi' yeukie claws an' scratches, 
I think I'm free 
Ta say the warld has seen few matches 
To Job an' me. 

Sae aft you've gar't me fret an' fume, 
My vera spirit ye consume 
Wi' everlasting martyrdom — 

Ye wicked tartars, 
You've surely settled on my room 

For your headquarters ! 

Asleep or wauken, air or late, 
Like Nick himsel' ye are na blate; 
But like the doom o' pendin' fate 

Aboon my head, 
Ye keep me in a waefu' state 

O' quakin' dread. 

Whiles like a fury I've been stan'in', 
An' clos'd my mou to keep frae bannin, 
"Whiles some destructive scheme I'm plannin' 

Your race to scatter — 
Oh, could I ram ye in a cannon, 

An' then lat blatter ! 



38 TO THE MOSQUITOES. 

When pensive in my fav'rite neuk, 
I glow'r owre some auld-f arrant beuk, 
Like leeches then my bluid ye sook, 

Then bizz and flee; 
An' then begins th' infernal yeuk 

That angers me. 

"When lost in mazy contemplation 
And soars supreme imagination, 
How aft on fancy's fair creation 

The curtain draps ; 
Ye bizz, an' blinks o' inspiration 

At ance collapse ! 

O, would some towsie-headed tyke, 
Wha strives to make some new bit fyke, 
Invent a plan to sweep your byke 

Frae human dwallins, 
I'd sing his praise as heigh's ye like 

In braw, braid ballan's. 

But fix'd ye are 'mang human ills — 
Whose bitter cup your bitin' fills; 
Nor auld wives' cures nor doctors' bills 

Can mend the case — 
Firm as the everlasting hills 

Ye keep your place. 

But could I gain some grace or ither, 
To teach me in ilk warslin swither, 
To tak the guid an' ill thegither 

Without complaint, 
Then might we dwell wi' ane anither 

In calm content. 



TO THE MOSQUITOES. 39 

But sae it is — ye maun hae food, 

An' I maun guard my ain heart's bluid; 

But could ye scrape a livelihood 

Some ither where, 
I would be yours in gratitude 

For evermair. 





* WHISKY'S AWAM 

HAT news is this? I speer fu' fain, 
Is this some joke o' th' printer's ain? 
Na, faith, it's truth that he's been say'n' 
They've pass'd a law 
Through Pennsylvania, dale an' plain — 
Whisky's awa' ! 

Weel might a pride light ilka eye, 
An' ilk arte haud their head fu' high, 
An' celebrate their Fourth July 

Wi' mirth an' a', 
An' roar o' cannon rend the sky — 
Whisky's awa' ! 

Lang has it been your pridefu' boast, 
What time the tyrant British host 
Departed, like a frighted ghost, 

At Freedom's craw ; 
A deadlier fae has left your coast — 

Whisky's awa'! 

Nae mair the drunkard's raggit bairns, 
Like misers, live on scraps an' parin's, 
An' gloomy jails, whase rusty aims 

Fulfill the law, 
May tumble down in shapeless cairns — 

Whisky's awa' ! 



WHISKY'S awa'! 41 

Good Templars now, an* bad anes baith, 
May cast aside their glitt'rin' graith; 
Nor need they paint vile whisky's scaith 

As black's a craw, 
Nor sign the pledge, nor tak the aith — 

Whisky's awa' ! 

Rejoice ilk mither — sorrow now 

Need never cloud your anxious brow. 

Ye lasses, when ye mak' your vow, 
Let hopes ne'er fa' — 

Your lads, like steel, will aye stand true- 
Whisky's awa !' 

If sultry weather should prevail, 
To slocken drouth nae ane need fail : 
There's caller cronk an' ginger ale, 

Or, best o' a', 
In Susquehanna dip your pail — 

Whisky's awa' ! 

O caller water ! gowd or gear 
Compared wi' thee maun tak' the rear; 
Thou never garr'd the bitter tear 

O' mis'ry fa' ! 
Pure be thy fountain evermair— 

Whisky's awa' ! 

Now Peace, wi' Plenty on its wing, 
Contentment's sweets may swiftly bring, 
An' Truth stand up, an' Virtue spring 

As pure as snaw ! 
While Universal Joy doth sing, 

Whisky's awa'! 



AULD SCOTIA IX THE FIELD. 

I WAS summer, and green earth's fair face 
Was wreathed in vernal bloom; 
Each dewy flow'ret lent its grace 
And shed its sweet perfume. 

The bright birds in the shady groves, 

On ev'ry bush and tree, 
Sang sweetly to their list'ning loves 

Their songs of melody. 

And from the city's busy throng 

Went forth a joyous band, 
To swell the universal song 

That echoed through the land. 

And deep within a shady wood 

Joy held its sylvan court ; 
And thither thronged the multitude 

To witness manly sport. 

Again we joyed to sally forth 

In tartan's plumed array; 
Wild music of our native North, 

Inspiring, led the way ; 

And Scottish banners waved above 

The heads of Scottish men, 
As if the Pennsylvanian grove 

Were Caledonian glen. 



AULD SCOTIA IN THE FIELD. 43 

Nor wanted there as brawny arms 

As erst in days of yore 
Were nobly raised in war's alarms 

For old green Albyn's shore, 

And won that glory which has given 

A halo brightly thrown 
Around her as a gleam from heaven — 

A glory all her own. 

And memories thronged till bright there seem'd 

Beneath fair Freedom's sun — 
Columbia's — Scotia's luster gleam'd, 

And spread their lights in one. 

Thus ever may they seem to shine, 

Homes of the brave and free, 
Upholding manhood's right divine 

Of God-like liberty; 

And buoyant on the wings of fame, 

Till Nature's destined plan 
In thunder voices loud proclaim 

The brotherhood of man. 




NORAN WATER. 

" Yet wheresoe'er his step might be, 
Thy wandering child look'd back to thee! " 

— Whittier. 



<*± 



[L STOOD where Erie's waters flow 
u O'er steep Niag'ra's awful brink, 

And watch'd where to the depths below 

The mighty torrents fold and sink; 
And as my senses seemed to swim, 

And quicker beat my throbbing heart, 
The sounding waters sang their hymn, 

More grand than music's measured art 

And I have sailed upon the flood 

That laves Manhattan's busy shore, 
By tangled brake and dark-green wood, — 

By beetling crags moss-grown and hoar, — 
By cultured fields where graceful bends 

The maize's yellow-crested stalk; 
And where, to swell her tide, descends 

The waters of the dark Mohawk. 

And I have gazed with joy untold 

Where through Wyoming's valley green 
The noble Susquehanna roll'd 

In stately majesty serene ; 
While pure as that unclouded day, 

Far seen in azure skies profound, 
The magic of a poet's lay 

Made all the scene seem hallowed ground. 



NORAN WATER. 45 

But these, though happy thoughts they bring, 

When clear upon the memory's eye 
They glow in bright imagining 

As vivid as reality; 
Yet dearer memories fondly forth 

Come linked with Noran's crystal stream, 
That, bright as in its native North, 

Oft sparkles in my fancy's dream. 

O Noran ! how I see thee dance 

By heath-clad hills alone, unseen, 
Save where the lonely eagle's glance 

Surveys thee from his crag serene. 
Forever joyous thou dost seem, 

Still sportive as a child at play, 
Who, lost in pleasure's careless dream, 

Makes merry music all the day. 

By fairy nooks I see thee flow, 

Nor pausing in thy artless song 
Till where the fir trees spreading low 

Obscure thy stream their arms among. 
There, sweet amid the shady gloom, 

Thou hear'st the blackbird chant his lay, 
Thou see'st the pale primroses bloom, 

And silent ling' rest on thy way ! 

Then forth thy waters dazzling come 

Where sweet-brier scents the balmy breeze, 
And where the wild bees softly hum 

Faint echo of thy harmonies. 
Green spiky gorse thy banks adorn, 

Gold-tassel' d broom thy fringe- work weave, 
While feathered choirs from dewy morn 

Make melody till dewy eve. 



46 NO RAN WATER. 

Then, foaming in fantastic flakes 

Thou dashest down a deep ravine, 
Where overhanging wildwood makes 

A canopy of leafy green. 
While sweet as when cathedral naves 

Are filled with voices grave and gay, 
Soft echoes from their hidden caves 

Eepeat thy ringing roundelay. 

Then eddying deep by flowery dells, 

Or babbling on by clovery lea, 
Thou glittering glid'st, while crystal bells 

Of diamond luster dance on thee, 
And happy children's eager eye 

Pursues them, or with tiny hands 
Collect the pearly shells that lie 

Begemming bright thy silvery sands. 

Then on by pleasant farms that breathe 

Of calm contentment's happy clime; 
Or laughing where the ivy's wreath 

Clings round the ruins of olden time. 
And on where stately mansions rise, 

Or lowly gleams the cottage hearth ; 
Unchanged thy smile still meets the skies, 

Unchanged still rings thy song of mirth. 

Till like a maid whose bridal morn 

Beholds her decked to meet her love, 
Thou com'st where gayest flowers adorn, 

And sweetest warblers charm the grove; 
And mingling with the Esk's clear stream, 

In fond embrace he claspeth thee, 
And smiling 'neath the sunny beam, 

Rolls grandly to the German Sea. 



NORAN WATER. 47 

O Noran ! bright thy memory brings 

My careless boyhood back to me, 
When ardent hope on fancy's wings 

Beheld life's future gleam like thee. 
But though life's path be dull and strange, 

And rare the promised joys I meet, 
In thee I have, through time and change, 

One golden memory ever sweet ! 




WEE CHARLIE. 

" I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." — II Sam- 
uel, xii, 23. 

GIN my heart could hae its wiss 

Within this weary warld o' care, 
I'd ask nae glow o' balmy bliss 
To dwell around me evermair. 
For joy were mine beyond compare, 

An' how happy would I be, 
If Heaven would grant my earnest prayer, 
An' bring wee Charlie back to me. 

He cam' like sunshine when the buds 

Burst into blossoms sweet and gay, 
He dwelt like sunshine when the cluds 

Are vanish' d frae the eye o' day. 
He passed as daylight fades away, 

An' darkness spreads owre land an' sea : 
Nae wonder though in grief I pray, 

0, bring wee Charlie back to me. 

When Pleasure brings her hollow joys, 

Or Mirth awakes at Friendship's ca', 
Or Art her varied power employs 

To mak' dull Time look blithe an' braw, 
How feckless seem they ane an' a' 

When sad Remembrance dims my e'e, — 
O, tak' thae idle joys awa' 

An' bring wee Charlie back to me. 



WEE CHARLIE. 49 

But vain's the cry ; he maunna cross 

Frae where he dwells in bliss unseen, 
Nor need I mourn my waefu' loss, 

Nor muse on joys that might hae been. 
When cauld death comes to close my een, 

Awa' beyond life's troublous sea, 
In everlasting joy serene, 

They'll bring wee Charlie back to me. 




TO MY NATIVE LAND. 

§22. ALEDONIA !— brightest, rarest 

Gem that shin'st on earth or sea; 
Lover-like, forever fairest 
Fancy paints thy charms to me. 

Day by day thy mem'ries haunt me, 
Rich in all things bright and rare; 

Night by night sweet dreams enchant me 
Of thy beauties fresh and fair; 

And my spirit seems to wander, 

Ever joyous, fond and free, 
O'er thy hills whose purple grandeur 

Glows in king-like majesty; 

Through thy glens that sweetly nourish 
Many a flower of bonnie bloom, 

"Where the spinks and blue-bells flourish 
Bright among the brier's perfume; 

Where the rowans hang like lusters 

Red within the shady dells ; 
And the sweet blaeberry clusters 

Blue among the heather-bells; 

Where the deeds o' martial glory 

Hallow ilka hill and dale ; 
Where the wild, romantic story 

Casts its charm o'er ilka vale; 



TO MY NATIVE LAND. 51 

Where sweet Poesy pipes her numbers 

Till the minstrels' airy dream 
Haunts the wild where Echo slumbers, 

Sings in ilka crystal stream ; 

Where true manhood dwells serenely 

Moulded in heroic grace, 
And fair virtue, meek but queenly, 

Beams in woman's angel face. 

Thus to me thy memory giveth 
Joys that sweeten life's dull care; 

Thus with me thy beauty liveth 
Like a presence ev'rywhere. 

And the years that pass but brighten 

All thy graces fair and free, 
As the moon-lit waters whiten 

On the dim and distant sea. 

So may thou dwell with me ever 
Through the ceaseless flow of years, 

Till the deep and dark Forever 
Ends my earthly hopes and fears. 

Then 'twere happy, Caledonia, 

Aye to dwell sereDe in you, 
Aye among the blythe and bonnie, 

Aye among the tried and true. 




ANGUS RANKIN'S ELEGY. 

BRITHER Scots whaure'er ye be, 
That lo'e auld Scotland's melodie, 
Come join my waii wi' tearfu' e'e 
An' hearts that bleed, 
An' sad an* lanely mourn wi' me 
For him that's dead! 

Now silence haunts baith house an' ha' 
Sin' Angus Rankin's worn awa' ; 
He wha sae sweetly aye could blaw 

The tunefu' reed, 
The sweetest minstrel o' them a' — 

Alas ! he's dead ! 

O sirs! what glowing pictures thrang 
In memory's treasured joys amang, 
Whaur blithely aye his chanter rang, 

A tunefu' skreed, 
In warbled numbers loud an' lang — 

But Rankin's dead ! 

How aft his sweet, inspiring strain 
Wing'd Fancy owre the dark blue main, 
Till heathery hill, an' grassy plain, 

An' daisied mead, 
Came fresh on memory's e'e again — 

But Rankin's dead! 



ANGUS RANKIN'S ELEGY. 53 

Ad' aft by some Columbian dell, 
In woody grove or breezy fell, 
His art divine threw sic a spell — 

It seemed indeed 
The very grund was Scotland's se? — 

But Rankin's dead ! 

When Hallowe'en or blithe New Year, 
Or auld Saint Andrew's Day drew near, 
His pipes aye roused sic social cheer — 

Fowk took nae heed, 
But danced till they could hardly steer — 
But Rankin's dead ! 

When kilted Scots made grand parade, 
In bonnets blue an' belted plaid, 
Wi' what triumphant, martial tread 

He took the lead ! 
Heroic graces round him spread — 

But now he's dead ! 

Ilk clansman mark'd his manly air, 
His modest mien an' form sae fair, 
The eagle eye, the raven hair 

That graced his head : 
Alas! he'll cheer their hearts nae mair — ■ 

For Rankin's dead ! 

When athletes mustered on the green, 
An' feats o' strength an' skill were seen, 
What rousing blasts he blew between, 

An' pibroch's skreed ! 
He was th' Apollo o' the scene — 

But Rankin's dead! 



54 ANGUS RANKIN'S ELEGY. 

When dancers danced the Highland Fling, 
How Angus made the welkin ring ! 
Till tune an' time an' ilka thing 

Sae fired the head, 
That nimble feet amaist took wing — 

But Rankin's dead ! 

Come, pipers, ye wha lo'ed him weel; 
Come, Cleland, famed for blithesome reel; 
Come, Grant an' Laurie, true as steel — 

An' Peter Reid, 
Come blaw some weird an' wild fareweel 

For Angus dead ! 

Come, Music, frae thy starry sphere, 
Come mourn thy loss amang us here ; 
Gar Fame gae sound her trumpet clear, 

Till a' tak' heed, 
An* mournfu' drap a kindly tear 

For Rankin dead I 





ST. ANDREW AND THE HAGGIS. 

E time Saunt Andrew — honest carl, — 
When on his travels through the warP, 
He fand himseP in great distress 
In Macedonia's wilderness : 
Grim hunger gnawed his wame within, 
The cauld sleet soaked him to the skin; 
An' buffeted wP winds unruly, 
He lookit like a tattie-dooly ; 
An' trauchled ae way or anither, 
Tint cowl and bauchles a'thegither, 
An' skelp'd on barefit through the gloom 
In patient, perfect martyrdom. 

A' shivering like a droukit mouse, 

He halted at the halfway house, 

An' spreading out his open palms 

Fu' meekly beggit for an alms. 

The landlord steer' d na frae the bit, 

But e'ed the Saunt frae head to fit, 

An' said: "You idle, gangrel crew, 

Coarse crumbs should sair the like o' you; 

I set ye doun this bill o' fare — 

The shakin's o' the meal-pock there, — 

Some harigalds, an' sic-like trash, 

That puir fowk use for makin' hash; — 

Tak' them, an* mixed wP creeshie dreep, 

Boil in the stammack o' a sheep; 



56 ST. ANDREW AND THE HAGGIS. 

An' gin your greedy gab be Dice, 
There's ingans an' a shak' o' spice; — 
Fa' to, — mak' guid use o' your time, 
An' ken the rift o' stappit wame." 

The Saunt in silence — shivering, cauld, 
Made up the mess as he was tauld; 
An' bent him canny owre the pot, 
An' render' d thanks for a' he got; 
An' ate his meal wi' cheerfu' grace, 
An' never thraw'd his honest face ! 

An' aye sin' syne on Andrew's nicht 
We see this extraor dinar' sicht, — 
How social Scots owre a' the warl' 
Will leave the fu' cog an' the barrel, 
An' smack their lips, an' rive like mad, 
At sic a dish as Andrew had. 
An' 'gainst the pangs o' flesh an' bluid 
They'll roose it up an' ca' it guid, 
Though feeling in their heart's ain gloom 
Some pangs o' Andrew's martyrdom I 





THE MONK AND THE SPECTRE. 

E morn, as ancient legends tell, 
A monk cam' hirplin frae his cell, 
An' far an' near a-begging went 
In favor o' his patron saint, 
But barely got for a' his care 
An antrin bawbee here an' there; 
When, as the night began to fa', 
He halted at a lordly ha', 
An' pray'd fu' weary an' forlorn 
To grant him shelter till the morn, 
An' vow'd fu' thankfu' he would be 
For ony gift they had to gie. 

His Lairdship owre his deevil's books 
Glower'd sour an' didna like his looks, 
An' said there was nae room to spare 
But ane, an' bogles haunted there ; 
An awesome place to pass the night, 
Wi' sights unfit for human sight. 
"But," said the Laird, "plain truth to tell, 
He looks maist like a ghaist himsel' ; 
Nae fleshless sprite or spectre grim 
Could ever be but freends wi' him : 
Gae, tak* him to the eerie place — 
He'll meet but marrows face to face." 

Neist morning when the monk cam' doun, 
Then a' the gentry gather'd roun', 
An' sair they questioned ane an' a' 
What sounds he heard, what sights he saw. 



58 THE MONK AND THE SPECTRE. 

"Ah! " quo' the monk, "I saw a sight 
Might freeze a mortal heart wi' fright — 
A spectre clad frae head to heel 
In mouldy brass an* rusty steel, 
Whiles stalk' d about, whiles seem'd to stand, 
Whiles rax'd to me a bluidy hand, 
While sounds cam' dowff frae a' it did 
Like clods upon a coffin lid!" 

"Preserve us a' !" ilk ane replied; 
"Amen to that!" his Lairdship cried. 
"An* did you raise your sad lament 
Fu' fervent to your patron saint?" 
"Na, na!" the monk said; "weel I wat 
I kent a trick worth twa o' that; 
I doff'd my cowl an' spak him fair, 
An' speer'd if he'd a plack to spare; 
But, like the feck o' Adam's race, 
He wadna look me in the face, 
Nor drap a plack, nor bide to speak, 
But vanish'd like a waff o' reek." 

Weel pleas' d to hear his pawky wit> 
The braw fowk laughed till like to split, 
An' frae their purses clinkit doun 
The cheenge o' mony an orra crown; 
An' blithe the monk saw in his mind 
This unco truth o' humankind — 
That he wha hings a hungry mou' 
Will find it hard to warsle through; 
While he that catches ilka chance 
An' mak's the maist o' circumstance 
Is sure to speed the dreichest cause 
An' win his fellow-men's applause. 



LAMENT 

ON THE OCCASION OF THE DEPARTURE OP ROBERT 
BUCHANAN, THE BRITISH POET, FROM AMERICA. 

SSSf Y Muse fu' dowie faulds her wing, 
J^!L An' nought but sabs an' sighs she'll bring: 
An' sad-eyed Sorrow bids me sing, 
Her tears to draw, 
How, like a wild bird journeying, 
Our Bard's awa' ! 

O Rab was bright an' warm an' free, 
Like sunlight on a simmer sea ! 
He aye was fu' o' mirth an' glee 

An' wit an' a' ; 
An' graced wi' gifts o' Poesy, — 

But Rab's awa' ! 

O blythe it was I trow to trace 
The sweet saul in his manly face, 
His blue een sparkling kindly grace 

On ane an' a' : 
Rab dearly lo'ed the human race, — 

But Rab's awa' ! 

The puir newspaper chields may mourn, 
If Rab should never mair return ; 
His words cam' like a bick'rin burn 

An' filled them a' : 
He did them mony a friendly turn, — 

But Rab's awa' J 



60 LAMENT. 

Play-actor billies round him hung, 
An' listened to his silv'ry tongue, 
That sweet as only clair'net rung 

In house or ha' : 
He was the pride o' auld an' young, — 

But Rab's awa' ! 

The lang-haired literary louns 
That live real puir in muckle touns, 
Will miss him for the royal boons 

He shower' d on a', — 
Bright silver bits as big's half-crowns,— 

But Rab's awa' ! 

O when he met wi' men o' spirit, 
Real clever cheilds o' modest merit, 
Owre oysters an' a glass o' claret, — 

O then — hurrah ! 
The very earth they did inherit, — 

But Rab's awa' ! 

That day he gaed on board the ship, 
He gied my hand a kindly grip, 
An' while a tremor shook his lip, 

Said— " Tell them a' 
They'll never frae my memory slip 

When I'm awa'." 

Quo' I, wi' heart as saft as jeel, 

"Braw be your chance in Fortune's wheel; 

May seas slip past your sliding keel 

Wi' canny jaw, 
An' may the bodies use ye weel 

When far awa'." 



LAMENT. 61 

Sin' syne I muse on Fortune's quirk: 
She shines, then leaves me in the mirk; 
I canna sleep nor wreat nor wirk, 

Nor ought ava, — 
I'm doited as a daunder'd stirk 

Sin' Rab's awa'. 

But whiles round Friendship's wreathed urn 
Hope's vestal fires fu' brightly burn; 
An' though the vanish'd joys I mourn 

That blossomed braw, 
Wha kens but Rab may yet return? — 

Though Rab's awa' I 




ELEGY 

ON THE DEATH OF JAMES FLEMING, THE SCOTTISH 
ATHLETE. 

S.OME, a' ye athletes crouse an' keen, 
Frae Gallowa' to Aberdeen, 
Wha like to loup or put the stane, 
Or rin a race, 
Come, let the tear-draps frae your een 
Ein doun your face. 

The noble Fleming's breath'd his last! 
My hamely muse stands maist aghast 
To mark how Fortune's cauldrife blast, 

In hapless time, 
Has laid him low ere barely past 

His manly prime. 

Oh, Jamie was a gallant chield 

As ever stood in open field ! 

His stalwart, grand, heroic build, 

And honest face, 
To admiration aye appeal' d 

In ilka place. 

Nae pride had he like them langsyne, 
When athletes maist were thought divine, 
When years o' practice they'd combine, 

Wi' nae sma' scaith, 
For olives on their brows to twine 

Or laurel wreath, 



ELEGY ON JAMES FLEMING. 63 

For though, in mony a manly feat, 
Braw, buirdly chields by him were beat, 
He ne'er was fash'd wi' sour conceit 

Like mony a gowk ; 
But wrought his wark an' gaed his gate 

Like ither f owk. 

What visions rise on memory's e'e, 
Wi' glints o' joyous youth to me, 
When thrangin' thousands in their glee 

Cam' round the ring, 
Where Jamie in his majesty 

Was like a king ! 

An' aye sae blythe he took a part 

In ilka feat o' manly art, 

Nae man, however bauld or smart, 

In lith or limb, 
Could ever daunt the lion heart 

That beat in him. 

weel he liked in Lowland touns 
To warsle wi' the English loons; 
He didna play at ups an' douns — 

An idle trick — 
But garr'd their heels flee owre their crowns 
In double quick ! 

At running races, short or lang, 

1 wat ye couldna come him wrang : 
When to the hill wi' furious thrang 

They swat an' fyked, 
The first half-mile he let them gang 
As fast's they liked — 



64 ELEGY ON JAMES FLEMING. 

But fleetly hameward on the track, 
When little headway they could mak', 
He led the whazzlin' stragglers back 

In proud career, 
Fu' fleetly springing and as swack 

As ony deer. 

At caber-tossing, when the rest 

Had trauchled sair an' dune their best, 

Then Jamie to the final test 

Wi' power advanced — 
Fierce as a cyclone in the West — 

An' owre it danc'd! 

An' grand it was to ane an* a' 
To see him poise the iron ba', 
Then send it wi' a spring awa' 

As clean's a quoit — ■ 
While owre the lave an ell or twa 

He garr'd it skyte! 

An' 0, it set him aye sae weel 

At Highland fling or foursome reel; 

Fu' blithely he could cut an' wheel 

Wi' manly grace, 
An' modest smiles aye wreath' d genteel 

On Jamie's face. 

But Jamie's strength and Jamie's grace — 
The pride o' Scotland's stalwart race- 
Has found a lang, last resting-place 

Beyond the deep, 
Where far Australia's headlands trace 

Their rocky steep. 



ELEGY ON JAMES FLEMING. 65 

An' though cauld death, the last o' ills, 
Earth's weary care forever stills, 
'Twere kind amo' the Athole hills 

To hae him laid, 
Mourn' d by the murmur o' the rills, 

Row'd in his plaid. 

But maybe 'yont the Southron seas, 

Far an at the Antipodes, 

Like thistle-down upo' the breeze, 

The wandering Scot 
May come, an* wi' a tear bapteese 

The hallowed spot. 

God shield his saul in Heaven's high hame ! 

Few earn a braver, kindlier name; 

An' though he's cross' d dark Lethe's stream 

Frae human e'e, 
His memory, like a gowden dream, 




TO THE SHADE OF BURNS, 

ON THE OCCASION OF UNVEILING A STATUE TO HIS 
MEMORY IN CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK. 

||) RIGHT spirit, whose transcendent song 
Hath charmed earth's utmost bound, 
Till from her solitudes among 
Comes ringing back the sound. 

Come where the wild Atlantic waves 
Have hush'd their ceaseless roar, 

And, softly as a zephyr, laves 
Columbia's happy shore. 

See where the thronging thousands stand 

In reverence to thee; 
The witching charm, — the magic wand, — 

Thy matchless minstrelsy ! 

They see in monumental bronze 

Thy manly form and face; 
They hear in music's sweetest tones 

Thy spirit's grander grace. 

And though from many lands they came, 

To brotherhood they've grown, 
By thee their pulses throb the same, 
Their hearts are all thy own. 
66 



TO THE SHADE OF BURNS. 67 

And we whose childhood's home was thine, 

What joy thy memory brings ! 
To us thou seem'st as more divine 

Than earth-created things. 

For all youth's fairy scenes and glee, 

Loves, hopes and fancies fain, 
In Poesy's art illumed by thee, 

Come back to us again ; 

And past and present all appear 

Transfigured by thy grace, 
Till Hope points where in grander sphere 

We'll meet thee face to face. 




THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

WOW" dear to ev'ry Scottish heart 
Are Scotland's melodies! 
They sweeten life's dull atmosphere 
Like perfume in the breeze : 
Blithe as the wild bird's artless notes 

The greenwood groves among, 
Earth's sweetest, noblest thoughts are those 
That warble into song. 

Their mellow music circles round 

The glad earth far and free, 
Like light they leap from land to land 

And flash from sea to sea, 
Till wakened echoes gladly ring 

In ev'ry vale and hill, 
And earth and air, exultant, catch 

The quick electric thrill. 

How bright to fancy's eye they bring 

Fair Scotland's classic land! 
Her hills, in purple splendor clad, 

Rise cloud-like, high and grand ; 
Her rustling wealth of golden fields 

Wave 'neath the glad'ning ray, 
Her silv'ry waters flash among 

Her valleys green and gay. 



THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 69 

Fair flow'rets bloom in tints that mock 

The rainbow's dazzling dyes, 
And daisies ope with modest grace 

Their myriad starry eyes; 
While all the glow of social life 

Comes group' d in living throngs, 
Transfigured by the magic grace 

And beauty of her songs. 

And where have love's impassioned throes 

E'er found so sweet a tongue? 
No mimic frenzy mocks the heart 

When Scotland's songs are sung: 
Their artless words, their liquid notes, 

In perfect tones express 
The matchless might of manly grace 

And woman's tenderness. 

While, buoyant on the tide of time, 

What glorious tales they tell 
Of freemen battling for the right— 

Of gallant foes that fell ! 
Of heroes who tempestuous rose 

The tyrant's touch to spurn ; 
The glowing pride of Stirling Bridge — 

The joy of Bannockburn ! 

O Scotland ! raise thy crested head 

Above the azure sea : 
Thou art the home of worth and truth, 

The cradle of the free. 
Where'er the eye of Time shall see 

Bold Freedom's flag unfurl'd, 
Thy songs shall stamp thy sons among 

The freemen of the world. 



70 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Thy voice in thunder ever pleads 

The cause of human wrongs : 
Thy seal is set, thy fame is fixed 

Eternal as thy songs, 
Whose clarion blasts shall bravely ring 

In Freedom's battle van, 
Until triumphant they shall hail 

The unity of Man! 





THE REFUGEES. 

PORT ROYAL FERRY, COOSAW RIVER, SOUTH CARO- 
LINA, APRIL, 1862. 

OWN beside the Coosaw River, 

'Neath the night fog's dreary pall, 
Nothing stirr'd the sullen silence 
Save the rebel sentry's call. 

Sullenly as crouching panthers, 
In the thicket, fierce and grim, 

Strode the wary, watchful pickets 
By the dusky river's brim. 

There the Highlanders were gathered, 

Who to battle had come forth, 
Rank'd beneath the flag of Freedom, 

Muster'd with the loyal North. 

Scottish fires of valor stirred them 

With the spirit of their race; 
And they long'd to meet the foemen 

In a battle, face to face. 

But the days pass'd by unchalleng'd, 
And the sickly, Southern swamp 

Breath'd its fetid, foul miasma 
Through the sullen, silent camp. 
71 



72 THE REFUGEES. 

Fierce the lurid eye of heaven, 
Seem'd to mock their mortal ills 

"With the furnace fires of noonday 
And the damp night's sudden chills. 

Here and there the low palmettos 
Hung their drooping plumes of green, 

Listless as the silent armies, 
And the waters spread between. 

Oft the Scots in fancy wander' d 
O'er the wide Altantic sea, 

Where the idle winds of heaven 
Blew in springtime freshness free; 

Where the hills in Highland heather, 
On their vision high and grand, 

Rose in all the purple splendor 
Of their loved, their native land. 

Where the scent of rainbow blossoms 
Nature's incense sweet combines, 

Blending all the balmy breezes 
With the odor of the pines. 

Where the green and golden glory, 
Of the glad fields sweep along, 

And the air is all melodious 
With the skylark's warbled song. 

Little dream' d they of the summer, 
With its havoc-kindling breath, 

With its fiery blasts of battle, 
With its harvest fields of death; 



THE REFUGEES. 73 

Of the charge at James' Island, 
Through the blazing batteries' smoke,— 

Of the storm at dark Chantilly, 
Where the heavens in thunder spoke! 

Or of trampling fallen foemen 
On South Mountain's ghastly ridge, 

Or of charging through the tempest 
At Antietam's bloody bridge. 

But there came a touch of action, 
One prophetic, brightening beam, 

Breaking in a flash of triumph 
On the Coosaw's murky stream. 

When beyond the darken'd river, 

Dim beside the drooping trees, 
Beckoning to take them over, 

Stood a band of refugees. 

By the first dull dawn of morning 

Eager forms they darkly trace; 
Hear them faintly calling to them, 

Dimly see each ebon face. 

Soon the Highlanders are helping, 

Soon they ply the busy oar, 
Clearing fast the dusky waters 

Till they reach the rebel shore. 

But behold ! where down the causeway, 

Sloping to the river's brim, 
Rebel horse and cannon coming, 

Dashing onward, fiercely grim. 



74 THE REFUGEES. 

And ere yet each loyal oarsman 
On the backward journey sets, 

See the Coosa w's sedges bristling 
Into glittering bayonets ! 

See the gleaming guns unlimber'd ! 

Hear the rattling ramrod's blow; 
See the brazen, murd'rous muzzles 

LeveFd at them as they row! 

Will the gallant oarsmen falter 
And for mercy now implore? 

Never ! — silence is but broken 
By the steady-striking oar. 

Not a single word is spoken; 

Teeth are set and tongues are dumb, 
"Waiting for the shower of grape-shot, 

With the cannon's breath to come! 

But behold ! each keen eye brightens 
As they hear the new alarms — 

Drums are rolling — bugles warbling — 
Calling Union men to arms. 

There — a line of level' d rifles, 

There are charges — shell and shot, — 

Ramm'd by loyal cannoneers 
In the cannon's brazen throat. 

Fierce they aim beyond the river 
At the dark, rebellious host, 

Fierce they aim, but in a moment 
All the embattled view is lost. 



THE REFUGEES. 75 

Naught is there but gray mist hanging 

Low on river and on wood, 
And the shrivel'd sedges standing 

Where the Rebel foemen stood. 

And the boat in triumph onward, 

Hailed by Union Volunteers, 
Strikes the happy shores of Freedom, 

In a burst of ringing cheers. 

While the negroes seem'd transfigured 
As from Slavery's bondage then, 

Freedom's rapture overcame them 
In the ranks of freeborn men. 

How the first glad gleam of morning 

Shining in the eastern skies, 
Glorified their happy faces 

And illumed their grateful eyes. 

Till they seemed with joy enraptured 

Telling in their ecstasy, 
Earth's serenest, brightest sunshine 

Is the light of liberty. 

So in Freedom's cause forever, 

Wheresoe'er her battles be, 
Thus shall Scotland's sons be ready 

'Mong the valiant and the free. 

Foremost in the day of peril, 

Bravest in the hour of fight, 
They await no proclamation 

In the cause of human right. 



76 THE REFUGEES. 

From the past the martial story 
Of their prowess boldly brings 

Visions of heroic battles 
Where the burnish' d armor rings. 

Telling to the storied centuries, 
'Mid a list'ning world's applause, 

Scottish swords are ever ready 
To be drawn in Freedom's cause. 

Scottish hearts and hands responsive, 
Battle for the highest good, 

Hastening on the coming Union 
Of our common brotherhood! 




/ 



THE TWO BROTHERS. 

AT JAMES ISLAND, SOUTH CAROLINA, JUNE, 16 '62. 

(HEY march'd to battle, side by side, 
Two brothers, young and fair; 
And youthful beauty graced each brow, 
Bedeck' d with golden hair; 
And lion-hearted courage gleamed 
In their heroic air. 

And when the cannon boom'd above 

The ringing Rebel yell, 
And charging columns crouch'd beneath 

The shower of shot and shell, 
The brothers stood like demons in 

The lurid fires of hell ! 

From right to left each flash that burst 

And cleaved the midnight sky, 
Revealed each bayonet's glittering gleam 

And lit each flashing eye, 
As forward, side by side, they strode, 

Resolved to do or die. 

Full well before that battle blast 

The bravest heart might quail, 
As thinner grew the charging ranks 

Beneath the iron hail, 
As sheaves are level' d to the earth 

Before an autumn gale. 
77 



78 THE TWO BROTHERS. 

Till fiercely on the rampart's height 

The Rebel foemen feel 
The wildly grand terrific dash 
j Of waves of level' d steel, 

And fast before that Northern charge 

Their shatter' d squadrons reel. 

A moment on the bristling crest 
The brothers bravely stand, 

A gleam of triumph on each face; 
Each waves a battle brand, 

But hark ! the distant bugles call 
A sudden, strange command. 

And backward o'er the hard- won field 

The gallant victors go ; 
Again the frowning ramparts hide 

The vanquish 'd Rebel foe; 
Again the batteries' blasting breath 

Lays many a hero low. 

Till scarce beyond the battle storm 
And shrieking shell and shot, 

They close the riven ranks, they fling 
The starry flag afloat; 

One brother answers to the call, 
The other answers not. 

Deep from the brother's stricken heart 

In pangs of dark despair, 
Is breath 'd in sobs of silent woe 

The breath of silent prayer, 
When through the serried ranks he finds 

His brother is not there. 



THE TWO BROTHERS. 79 

He gazes o'er that field of death 

A moment, and is gone ; 
Back through the drifts of battle wreck 

Among the dead alone, 
He seeks the fallen in the field, 

And views them one by one. 

His eyes grow dim as comrades lie 

Before his eager sight, 
Full well he knows each marble face 

That glimmers ghastly white 
Beneath the waning moon and stars 

That dim their spectral light. 

At last when near the fatal fort, 

Amid the carnage dire, 
He sees the fallen form he loves, 

He clasps his heart's desire. 
The f oemen see them, and — behold ! 

A sudden flash of fire ! 

And side by side the brothers fall, 

Lock'd in a fast embrace; 
And side by side the eye of day 

Beholds them face to face, 
Laid 'neath the Carolinian sod 

In their last resting-place. 

One flag waves free o'er all the land 

For which they nobly died ; 
One wreath of evergreen entwines 

The brave in battle tried ; 
And they who fall in Freedom's cause 

By death are glorified ! 



80 THE TWO BROTHERS. 

In endless calm they dwell serene 
In Fame's high Parthenon; 

Their voices echo down the years 
In truth's eternal tone; 

To higher aims, to nobler deeds 
Their souls are marching on. 




AMONG THE GRAMPIAN HILLS. 

LAD AND LASS. 

OMETIMES by rocky heights they stray'd, 
Sometimes by deep and ferny glade, 
And sometimes on by pathways green, 
Along the bank of deep ravine, 
While far beneath, in headlong force, 
Some mountain torrent cleav'd its course, 
And woke the echoes from their sleep 
With wrathful brawlings loud and deep. 
Sometimes the soaring falcon spread 
His quivering pinions overhead, 
And hung, unmoved, as if intent 
To watch the wand'rers as they went; 
And sometimes springing, fleet and fast, 
The stately red deer bounded past, 
And paused between them and the sky 
To turn a soft and wondering eye. 
In hollow vales by dark green woods 
Sweet music charm' d the solitudes: 
The blackbird led the vocal choir, 
The skylark, like a flash of fire, 
Seem'd glittering bright the clouds among 
And pour'd his flood of fervid song; 
The merry linnet, in the bush, 
Sang sweetly to the answering thrush; 
81 



8% AMONG THE GRAMPIAN HILLS. 

And to the lovers everything 
Proclaimed a joyous welcoming. 
For them all things of earth and air 
Seem'd blent in beauty bright and fair; 
To them all things seem'd glad and young; 
For them the woodland echoes rung; 
For them a thousand dazzling dyes 
Of flow'rets oped their dewy eyes. 
In shady nooks the primrose lent 
A golden grace where'er they went; 
While laden bees, on tireless wings, 
Humm'd soft their drowsy murmur inga 
Beneath, the purple heather spread ; 
The bluebell raised its modest head 
And quiver' d on its tender stem, 
As if 'twere glad to look at them. 
Aloft, the bright red rowans shone; 
The foxglove waved the wanderers on. 
The green firs spread their ample shade 
By many a sweet and silent glade, 
And seem'd to woo the happy pair 
To look and pause and linger there. 




AMONG THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 

OFTLY the mist-mantled mountains arise 
^Jp Dim in the dawning of opal-hued skies; 

Brighter and brighter the highlands are seen 
Kobed in the splendor of emerald green ; 
Nearer and clearer peaks burst on the view, 
Lightened by silvery flashes of dew. 
Valley on valley comes, hill upon hill, 
Streamlet to streamlet and rill unto rill. 
Gracefully garlanded foliage of vines, 
Wilderness- wreaths that encircle the pines, 
Clasp the dark underland, cunningly weaves 
All the wild wonderland, lab'rinth of leaves. 
Rainbow-hued flowerets blossom to view, 
Purple and amethyst, orange and blue, 
Starry-eyed, tassel-hung, fold upon fold, 
Whiter than silver and brighter than gold. 
Hemlock and cedar boughs, maple and beech 
Crowd into clusters and whisper in speech. 
Poplars majestic as sentinels stand, 
Fir trees on fir trees rise solemn and grand. 
Summits are laurel-crowned, each crag receives 
Wonderful wealth of luxuriant leaves 
Gilt with a glory where golden-rods bloom, 
Redden'd where ripe berries blush in the gloom. 
Hangs the fruit banquet-like, luscious and sweet, 
Dropping in prodigal wealth at my feet. 

83 



84 AMONG THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 

Cool the dark coverts are, dim the green shades, 

Lofty the leafy roofs arching the glades. 

Underfoot, woven wreaths twining the stems, 

Overhead, crested plumes splendid with gems. 

O, to dwell ever here ! Summit of bliss ! 

Where is the fairyland fairer than this? 

Earth hath not fairer or grander to see, 

Fancy not rarer that cometh to me. 

Day-dreams that haunt me come fair to the sight, 

Dreams that enchant me illumine the night. 

Oft in the desert of life's joyless throng, 

Dear as the mem'ries that echo in song, 

Comes the green mountain land, fresh in its grace, 

Sweet as a smile on a beautiful face, 

All the white wonders of day- dawns arise, 

All the bright splendors of sapphirine skies; 

All the gay gladness of beauty and bloom, 

All the sweet sadness of silence and gloom, 

All the glad story of forest and flower, 

All the red glory of sunsetting hour, 

Comes till I seem to lie lapp'd in bright dreams, 

Lull'd by the lullaby murmur of streams! 




IN MEMORIAM. 

J. C. M. 

^uTE SLEEPS; and o'er his honored tomb 
(Q^JL Let June's enamelled verdure grow: 
Earth's fairest gems no purer bloom 
Than he who rests below. 

He lived as lived the hallowed saints 

To darker ages kindly given, 
Whose presence lent life's discontents 

A healing touch of heaven. 

He came, and earth new beauty wore — 

Ev'n care assumed a gentle grace; 
And darkening doubts aye fled before 

God's sunshine in his face. 

I loved him ; yet I grieve not now, 

Though quenched that wealth of golden speech^ 
Nor mourn though glory gilds his brow 

Beyond my little reach. 

Around me still his friendship clings, 

Upon my path his. blessing lies, 
Sweet as the light from angel's wings 

That beams and beautifies. 

His voice still greets me from afar, 

Like anthems echoing far away; 
Hi3 presence fades but as a star 

That melts in perfect day. 
85 



SONGS. 

THE BONNIE LASS THAT'S FAR AWA'. 

HE'S far awa' that won my heart, 
The lassie wi' the glancing een; 
Nor Nature's wark, nor mortal's airt, 
Can bring me aught sae rare I ween ; 
For though the seas row deep between, 
An' lanely looks baith house an' ha', 
Fond recollection aye keeps green 
The bonnie lass that's far awa'. 

Or if at time frae mem'ry's e'e 

She fades as gloaming fades to night, 
If but some winsome lass I see, 

Wi' jimpy waist an' een that's bright, 
My heart gaes fluttering at the sight, 

An' staps the breath I'm gaun to draw, 
While fancy paints in glowing light 

The bonnie lass that's far awa'. 

Glide by, ye weary winter days; 

Glide by, ye nights sae lang an* drear; 
How swiftly sped time's gowden rays, 

When Simmer's sang an' love were here. 
Then come, sweet Spring, revive the year, 

Bring verdure to the leafless shaw, 
An' bring the lass that I lo'e dear — 

The bonnie lass that's far awa\ 
86 



CAM' YE OWRE THE FULTON FERRY? 

!§2. AM' ye owre the Fulton Ferry? 

Heard ye pipers bravely blaw? 
Saw ye clansmen blithe an' merry 
In the Caledonian Ha'? 
A' their siller brooches glancing, 

A' their tartan waving green, 
A' their glorious mirth an' dancing, 
Were na match to bonnie Jean. 

Ilka lad was glow'rin* at her, — 

Vow but mony ane was fain; 
Pawky rogues forgot to flatter, 

Wishing Jeanie were their ain. 
When she spak' they stood an* wondered, 

As when subjects hear a queen ; 
Lasses too were maist dumfounder'd — 

A* the lads were after Jean. 

Lang they've wrought on plans for bringing 

A' the bodies to the ha' ; 
Some would come to hear the singing, 

Some to see a friend or twa. 
A* their schemes hae seen conclusion, 

They may rest content I ween; 
Fowk gae thrangin' by the thousan' 

Just to look at bonnie Jean. 
87 



O MARY, DO YE MIND THE DAY? 



*&*> 



MARY, do ye mind the day 

When we were daffin on the green? 
Sae sweet an' couthie 's ye did say 
Your gentle heart was gien to nane. 
The opening bloom o' seventeen, 

Like violet begun to blaw, 
Grac'd ilka charm, when saft at e'en 
Ye bade me bide a year or twa. 

An' years hae pass'd, sweet lass, sin' syne — 

Lang years upon life's stormy sea, 
But bright an' brighter aye ye shine 

The beacon light o' memory's e'e; 
An* aye my thoughts flee back to thee, 

Like swallows wing'd frae far awa'; 
An' aye I mind ye said to me, 

"O laddie, bide a year or twa." 

Then, lassie, come wi' a* thy charms, 

I wat I'm wearied o' myseP ; 
I'll clasp thee in my longing arms, 

An' aye thegither we will dwell. 
O gar my heart wi' rapture swell, 

O dinna, dinna say me na, 
For brawly do ye mind yoursel' 

Ye bade me bide a year or twa. 
88 




NOW SIMMER CLEEDS THE GROVES EST 
GREEN. 

OW simmer deeds the groves in green, 
An' decks the flow'ry brae ; 
An' fain I'd wander out at e'en, 
But out I daurna gae. 
For there's a laddie down the gate 

Wha 's like a ghaist to me; 
An' gin I meet him air or late, 
He winna lat me be. 

He glow'rs like ony silly gowk, 

He ca's me heavenly fair; 
I bid him look like ither fowk, 

An' fash me sae nae mair. 
I ca* him coof an' hav'rel too, 

An' frown wi' scornfu' e'e; 
But a' I say, or a' I do, 

He winna lat me be. 

My cousin Kate she flytes me sair, 

An' says I yet may rue; 
She rooses aye his yellow hair 

And een o' bonnie blue. 
Quo' she, "If e'er ye want a man, 

Juist bid him wait a wee." 
I think I'll hae to tak' her plan — 

He winna lat me be. 
89 



MAEY WT THE GOWDEN HAIRo 

Jim 



lt\m ARY wi' the gowden hair, 



Bonnie Mary, gentle Mary; 
O but ye are sweet an' fair, 
My winsome, charming Mary. 
Your een are like the starnies clear, 
Your cheeks like blossoms o' the brier, 
An' O your voice is sweet to hear, 
My ain, my bonnie dearie. 

But dearer than your bonnie face, 

Bonnie Mary, gentle Mary, 
Or a' your beauty's bloom an' grace, 

My winsome, charming Mary, 
Is ilka motion, void o' airt, 
That lends a grace to ilka pairt, 
An' captivates ilk manly heart, 

Wi' love for thee, my dearie. 

But Mary, lassie, tak' advice, 

Bonnie Mary, gentle Mary; 
Be mair than guid, braw lass, — be wise, 

My winsome, charming Mary, 
An' gie your heart to ane that's true, 
Wha'll live to love nae ane but you; 
An' blithe you'll be an' never rue, 

My ain, my bonnie dearie. 
90 




BONNIE NORANSIDE. 

HEN joyfu' June wi' gladsome grace 
Comes deck'd wi' blossoms fair, 
An' twines round Nature's bonnie face 
Her garlands rich and rare, 
How swift my fancy wings awa' 

Out owre yon foaming tide, 
And fondly paints each leafy shaw 
On bonnie Noranside ! 

O sweetly there the wild flow'rs spring 

Beside the gowany lea ! 
O blithely there the wild birds sing 

On ilka bush and tree! 
While purple hills an' valleys green, 

Array'd in Simmer's pride, 
Spread lavish to the longing een 

By bonnie Noranside. 

Ye Powers wha shape our varied track 

On life's uncertain sea, 
As bright there comes in fancy back 

Youth's fairy scenes to me, 
Sae bring me back, I fondly pray, 

To where my auld freends bide, 
To spend ae lee lang Simmer's day 

By bonnie Noranside. 
91 




BONNIE JEAN. 

HERE Feugh rins to the winding Dee, 
'Mang meadows fresh an' green; 
An' bluebells deck the gowany lea, 
By stately Cloch-na-Ben, 
There dwells a lass fu' blithe an' gay, 

Wi' bonnie laughing een ; 
The balmy summer's sunny day 
Nae fairer is than Jean. 

How cheery rings the shelf a' s sang 

Amang the hazel howes ! 
An' fair the gowden tassels hang 

Upon the gay, green kowes ! 
Sweet blossoms tempt the wand'ring bee, 

Fair as the rainbow's sheen; 
Sae shines in beauty's bloom to me 

The rosy cheeks o' Jean. 

aft on fancy's fairy wing, 
That wanders far and free, 

1 come in bright imagining 
Frae ower th' Atlantic sea. 

"While mem'ry paints ilk leafy shaw, 

Ilk meadow fair an' green ; 
But aye serene aboon them a' 

I mind on bonnie Jean. 
92 



I WONDER IF THE BONNIE LADDIE 
THINKS ON ME. 

t WONDER if the bonnie laddie thinks on me; 
I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me; 
There's a dimple on his chin and a sparkle in 
his e'e — 
And I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me ! 

Now June has spread her mantle green on ilka bank 

and brae 
An' blooms are hanging on the broom and blossoms 

on the slae; 
The birds are singing to their mates on ilka bush an' 

tree — 
And I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me ! 

The sun is shining in the lift sae bonnie and sae clear; 
O, June's the brawest, blythest month o' a' the 

happy year! 
For then the flowers I like the best they bloom sae 

fair and free — 
And I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me ! 

He daurna look the airt o* me for fear his mither 

frown; 
I daurna look the airt o' him for f owk about the toun ; 

93 



94 DOES THE BONNIE LADDIE THINK ON ME. 

But whiles I canna help but catch the glad glance 

o' his e'e — 
O, I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me ! 



I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me; 
I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me; 
There's a dimple on his chin and a sparkle in his 

e'e— 
And I wonder if the bonnie laddie thinks on me ! 




LYRICAL CHARACTER SKETCHES 

"Unskilled the subtle lines to trace, 
Or softer shades of Nature's face, 
I view her common forms with unanointed eyes." 

— Whittier. 



"A! 



«« ^ ND therefore every gentil wight I pray, 
For Goddes love as deme not that I say 
"Of evil entent, but that I mote reherse 
Hir tales alle, al be they better or werse, 
Or elles f alsen some of my matere, 
And therefore who so list it not to here, 
Turn over the leef , and chese another tale, 
For he shall find ynow both gret and smale, 
Of storial thing that toucheth gentilesse, 
And eke moralite, and holinesse. 
Aviseth you now, and put me out of blame; 
And eke men shuld not make ernest of game." 

— Chaiicer. 



95 




THE LECTURER. 

MBITION aften leads a chield 
To unco slips and errors, 
Whaur, grim as ony battlefield, 
He meets wi' mony terrors, 
An' sairly mourns the luckless fate 

That met him ere he kent it, 
Forgetting that he sought sic gate, 
Nor wadna be contented. 

Poor Donald, yet I mind him weel, 

That time when, bauld as Hector, 
He fancied till himsel', poor chiel, 

He'd like to gie a lecture; 
An' logically showed that mist 

Aft dims a sunny radiance, 
An' vow'd the only thing he wiss'd 

Was juist a list'ning audience. 

Now Donald was nae dosent gowk, 

Tho' juist a wee conceited, 
He understood the ways o' fowk, 

An' kittle points debated. 
Wi' hair unkamed an* een ablaze, 

He was a moral study; 
He didna even wear his claes 

Like ony common bodie. 
96 



THE LECTURER. 97 

Some 'prentice louns, fu' fond o' fun, 

Soon laid their heads thegither, 
To bring to light that darken 'd sun — 

Nor did they halt nor s wither, 
But hired a ha' ; an' through the toun 

Wi' muckle praise they heez'd him, 
An' in the papers up an' doun 

Fu' grand they adverteesed him. 

An' hermit- like poor Fraser then 

Kept close within his cloister, 
As kittle 's ony clocking hen, 

An' close as ony oyster. 
"Whiles through the keyhole fowk would keek 

In eager expectation, 
An' see him stamp, an' hear him speak 

In fiery declamation. 

Some said when rapt in lofty mood 

He utter'd awfu' sayin's, 
That blanch' d the cheek, an' chilled the blood, 

An' flegg'd the verra weans. 
It looked as if he seemed to scan 

Some elemental brewin' — 
Some dark wrang waft in Nature's plan, 

An' then the crash o' ruin. 

Poor chield ! he little kenn'd the end 

O' a' his preparation, 
How first his heart gied sic a stend 

An' then took palpitation. 
How choked his voice, though, truth to tell, 

He'd chow'd some sugar-candie ; 
Forby he'd fortified himsel' 

Wi' twa 'r three nips o' brandy 



98 THE LECTURER. 

But de'il-ma-care, as soon's he saw 

The thrang o' glow'rin faces, 
His wits an' courage fled awa', 

An' terror took their places. 
His chattering teeth an' trembling legs 

Were automatic wonder; 
An' then a show'r o' rotten eggs 

Crashed round his lugs like thunder. 

In fury first he tore his hair; 

Then gaped his mou' to mutter; 
But some ane choked his wild despair 

Wi' half -a -pound o' butter — 
Then wild he sprauchled round the stage 

Like ony Jockie-blindy; 
Then dash'd his head in frantic rage 

Out through the big ha' window. 

Now lat ilk honest man tak' tent, 

An' heedna vain ambition; 
But try an' dwall at hame content, 

An' mind his ain condition. 
Should love o' glory lure ye on, 

Like Hannibal or Caesar, 
O ! for a moment think upon 

The doom o' Donald Fraser. 




THE PLAY-ACTOR 






ANG PETER was an unco loun, 
A queer catwittit creature; 
An' nought could please him up or doun, 
But rinnin' to the theatre. 
He bore his mither's wild tirwirrs, 

For sad an' sair it rack'd her, 
To think that weel-born bairn o' hers 
Would turn a waugh play-actor. 

But Peter wadna haud nor bind, 

But lived in firm adherence 
That some grand chance some day would find 

His lang-look'd-for appearance; 
And whiles he gaed to sic a height 

Wi' Shakespeare's grand creations, 
That fowk were deav'd baith day an' night 

Wi' skelps o' recitations. 

An' sae it chanced, an orra rake 

Aft gripp'd in want's cauld clutches; 
Though like a Jew, aye on the make 

In ilka thing he touches, 
Had fa'n upon an unco ploy — 

Puir chield, an unco pity — 
To play the drama o' "Rob Roy" 

Owreby in Brooklyn City. 
99 



100 THE PLAY-ACTOR. 

Frae far an' near the show fowk cam', 

Puir hungry-looking villains, 
An' some would play juist for a dram, 

An' some for twa 'r three shillings; 
But Peter sought nae baser kind 

O' monetary clauses, 
But offered free his heart an' mind, 

In hopes to win applauses. 

And had ye seen him on that night 

When on the stage thegither, 
I wat he was a gallant sight 

For marching through the heather; 
Wi' tartan kilt an' braid claymore, 

An' buckles glancing rarely, 
Like chieftains i' the days o' yore 

That fought for Royal Charlie. 

But how can e'er my muse rehearse 

The sad, the sair misfortune, 
Or paint that sight in modest verse, 

How when they raised the curtain, 
A chield stood winding up the claith 

Like playing on hurdy-gurdies, 
An' in rowed Peter's tartan graith, 

An' hung him by the hurdies! 

A yell broke frae th' astonished crowd, 

The very sky it rent it ; 
Some glaiket lassies skirl' d fu' loud, 

An' ithers near-hand fainted. 
Puir Peter squirmed, an' lap an' sprang, 

Just like a new-catch 'd haddock, 
An' kick'd his heels wi' fearfu' spang 

Amaist like ony puddock. 



THE PLAY-ACTOR. 101 

Some tried to free him frae his plight, 

They cam but little speed o' 't, 
Ane broke the handle in his might, 

Juist when they maist had need o* 't. 
A chield grown desp'rate i' the case 

Shut aff the big gas meter, 
An' brought thick darkness owre the place 

An' some relief to Peter. 

Daft gowk ! he minds his mither now, 

His stage career is ended; 
An' may ilk foolish prank, I trow, 

Thus be at first suspended. 
Ye youths wha court the public e'e 

Keep back in canny clearance, 
Or some disaster ye may dree 

Like Peter's first appearance. 





THE PEDDLER. 

f EN" ye ought o' Wat the peddler? 
Vow, but he's a graceless vaig; 
Sic a waefu' wanworth meddler 
Weel deserves a hankit craig. 

Mony ane he's sair tormented, 
Driven women's heads agee, 

Till their dreams wi' Wat are haunted, 
Peddling wi' his puckle tea. 

Ilka ane wi' spite he stounds aye, 
Aft their doors they'll tightly lock; 

Wat, regardless, goes his rounds aye, 
Eeg'lar as an aucht-day clock. 

Fient the rap afore he enters, 
Slap the door gangs to the wa', 

Bauldly in the villain ventures, 
Peddler, paper-pocks, an' a\ 

But the foot o' rude intrusion 

Wanders whiles to sorrow's schule; 

And the hand o' retribution 

Wrought the peddler muckle dule. 

Jean Macraw, that carefu' creature, 
Cleans her house with fashious fyke, 

Night and day — it is her nature — 
Working aye as hard 's ye like, 
102 



THE PEDDLER. 103 

Now, the chairs and stools she's drilling, 

Ben the house in rankit raw ; 
Now she's prappit near the ceiling, 

Straikin whitening on the wa\ 

Little thought she, worthy woman — 

Busy wi' her mixture het — 
CV the waefu' peddler coming 

Or the droukin he would get. 

In he bang'd, the whitening whummlet 

Wi* a sclutter owre his skull; 
Backlin's headlang doun he tummlet — 

Buller'd maist like ony bull. 

Dazed was he an' fairly doitit, 

Kack'd wi' anguish o' despair, 
Sprauchled up, then owre he cloitit, 

Cowpit catmaw doun the stair. 

Auld an* young in tumult gather'd, 
Jeannie danc'd an' craw'd fu' crouse, 

Wives delighted, blithely blather' d, 
Roars o' laughter shook the house. 

"Wat, puir chield — nane did lament him — 
Clear'd his een and sought the road, 

Aff an' never look'd ahint him, 
Einnin' like a hunted tod. 





THE INVENTOR. 

YE wha 're to invention gien, 
Wha work, like moudywarts, unseen 
To bring to light some new machine— 
Ye men o' worth, 
Your handiwark 's no worth a preen 
Frae this henceforth. 

A chield has come o' wondrous sleight, 
Whase cunning hand and deep insight 
Dispels ilk film that dims the flight 

O' fancy's ray, 
Like vapors fleeting at the light 

O' dawning day. 

I doubtna some will sneer an' snarl 
To hear that ae au Id -f arrant carl 
Has flash' d like ony pouther barrel, 

An' shown himsel', 
Throughout the hale mechanic warl* 

He bears the bell. 

O could you see him in his glory — 
A sma' room in an upper storey — 
His rev' rend pow like winter, hoary— 

His kindling een, 
An' hear the deep mysterious story 

O' ilk machine. 
104 



THE INVENTOR. 105 

Some work wi' bauks that shog or swing, 
Some rin wi' weights that wag or hing, 
Some hum like bees, some wi* a spring 

Come thuddin' roun', 
Some whirr like partricks on the wing 

Wi' rattling soun\ 

An' then what countless ends an' uses — 
What wonner-wark ilk thing produces— 
There's souters' awls an' tailors' guses 

That work their lane, 
An' rams for dingin doun auld houses 

0' brick or stane. 

What polish'd cranks! what grand confusion! 

Like some fantastic wild illusion ; 

What cantrip skill ! what rowth o' fusion, 

That mak's nae fyke 
To hoist tons by the hunder thousan', 

As heigh's ye like ! 

Forby, what wrangs his skill's been right'ning! 
Nae boilers now exploding, fright'ning; 
His patent streaks o' harness' d lightning 

Does a' the wark — 
Our comfort and our power he's height'ning 

Out owre the mark. 

O grant him soon a noble pension, 
And joy beyond a' comprehension; 
And may the tither new invention 

Expand his fame, 
Till fowk in rapture blithely mention 

The bodie's name. 



THE CURLER. 

AW ye e'er a vet'ran curler 

Mourning owre a broken stane, 
When the game is at the thrangest. 
Ere the hin'most shot is ta'en? 

How the past comes up before him, 
Like a gleam o' gowden light ! 

How the present gathers o'er him, 
Like a stormy winter's night! 

Doun he sits upon his hunkers — 

Lifts the pieces ane by ane; 
Mourns the day he cam' to Yonkers — 

Vows he's lost a faithfu' frien' ! 

Doun the rink comes Davie Wallace, 

Tears o' pity in his e'e, 
Vex'd an' sad his very saul is, 

Sic a waesome sight to see. 

Weel he kens that throbs o' anguish 
Wring the vet'ran's heart in twa; 

Davie's feelings never languish — 
Davie kens we're brithers a'. 

An' he speaks him kindly — "Saunders, 
Weel I wat you've fash aneuch; 

But let grieving gae to Flanders — 
Keep ye aye a calmer sough. 
106 



THE CURLER. 107 

Stanes will gang to crokonition, 

Hearts should never gang agee; 
Plenty mair in fine condition — 

Come an' send them to the tee." 

"Wheesht!" says Saunders, "dinna mock me — 

Cauld's the comfort that ye gie; 
Mem'ries gather like to choke me 

When ye speak about the tee. 

Whaur's the stane I could depend on? 

Vow my loss is hard to bear ! 
Stanes an' besoms I'll abandon — 

Quat the curling evermair. 

Weel I mind the day I dress'd it, 

Five-an' -thirty years sin' syne, 
Whaur on Ailsa Craig it rested — 

Proud was I to ca' it mine. 

Owre the sea, stow'd i' the bunkers, 

Carefu' aye I strave to fend, 
Little thinking here at Yonkers 

I would mourn its hinder end. 

Saw ye aft how ilk beginner 

Watch 'd it aye wi' envious eye? 
Canny aye it chipp'd the winner: — 

Never fail'd to chap an' lie. 

Ne'er ahint the hog- score droopin' — 

Ne'er gaed skitin past the tee; 
Skips ne'er fash'd themsel's wi' soopin' 

When they saw my stane an' me." 



108 



THE CURLER. 

Round the ither curlers gather, 
Some lament wi' serious face; 

Some insist it's but a blether — 
Aft they've seen a harder case. 

Davie lifts the waefu* bodie, 
Leads him aff wi' canny care, 

Brews a bowl o' reekin toddy, 

Bids him drown his sorrows there. 

But his heart is like to brak aye, 
An' he granes the tither grane, 

Gies his head the tither shake aye, 
Croons a cronach to his stane. 

Sune the toddy starts him hoisin, 
Sune he grows anither chiel — 

Glorious hameward reels rejoicin' 
Wi' his senses in a creel! 





THE QUOIT PLAYERS. 

HAT unco chances whiles will fa' 
To ony human creature; 
How, kick'd about like fortune's ba', 
We prove our fickle nature. 
While ane will mourn wi' tearfu' e'e 

Some dule right unexpeckit, 
Anither big wi' joy we'll see 
As bright as ony cricket. 

Ae time I mind, when joyfu' June 

Had brought the wand'ring swallows, 
An* sweet ilk feather'd sangster's tune 

Rang through the leafy hallows ; 
An' Nature wore her richest grace, 

For flow'rs and blossoms mony 
Were scattered owre earth's smiling face, 

An' a' was blithe an' bonnie. 

An' thrangin frae the neib'rin toun 

Cam' mony a cheery carl, 
As crouse as claimants for a crown 

They look'd for a' the warl'. 
There mony a weel-skill'd curling skip 

Cam' wi' his quoits provided; 
For there, that day, the championship 

Was gaun to be decided. 
109 



110 THE QUOIT PLAYERS. 

An' motts were placed, an' pair an' pair 

They stript them for the battle, 
An' sune the quoits glanc'd through the air, 

An' rang the tither rattle. 
An' sudden shouts and loud guffaws 

Cam' thick an' thrang thegither, 
Confused as ony flock o' craws 

Foreboding windy weather. 

An' some keep pitching lang an' dour, 

Weel-match'd an' teuch 's the widdie; 
While ithers canna stand the stour, 

But knuckle doun fu' ready. 
An' till 't again the victor's fa' 

Wi' keener, prouder pleasure; 
While rowth o' joy swells ane an* a* 

Wi' overflowing measure. 

O manly sport in open field, 

Life-kindling recreation ! 
Compared wi' thee what else can yield 

Sic glowing animation? 
Gin feckless fules wha idly thrang 

To city balls an' theatres, 
Wad tak' to thee they'd grow sae gtrang, 

They'd look like ither creatures. 

But see — they've feckly dune their best, 

An' mony a pech it 's ta'en them, 
Till twa are left to stand the test, 

An' f echt it out atween them ; — 
Twa rare auld chaps o' muckle fame, 

I wat they're baith fu' handy; 
Ane muckle Willie was by name, 

The tither siccar Sandie. 



THE QUOIT PLAYERS. HI 

Now Sandie had an unco kind 

O' silent meditation, — 
A gath'ring in o' heart an' mind, — 

A rapt deliberation ; 
An' nane daur draw a breath while he 

Stood fierce as ony Pagan, 
Till whizz his weel-aim'd quoit wad flee 

Like ony fiery dragon 1 

But Willie — open-hearted chiel — 

He never liked to face it, 
Till some tried freend wad cheer him weel, 

An' tell him whaur to place it. 
An' sic a job was just the thing 

That quoiters lik'd to cherish, 
An' loud they gar'd the echoes ring 

Throughout the neib'rin parish. 

An' sair they battled, baith as brave 

As game-cocks f echtin' frantic ; 
The tae shot silent as the grave, 

The tither wild 's th' Atlantic. 
An' neck an' neck they ran the race, 

At ithers' heels they rattled, 
Until they reach 'd that kittle place — 

The shots that were to settle 't. 

An* sae it was when Sandie stood 

In breathless preparation, 
Some senseless gowk in frenzied mood, 

Owrecome wi' agitation, 
YellM out — "O Sandie, steady now! 

Let's see you play a ringer!" 
Distraction rack'd puir Sandie's pow, 

An' skill forsook his finger. 



112 THE QUOIT PLAYERS. 

Awa' the erring quoit gaed skeugh 

Wi' wildly waublin birl, 
An' owre a bare pow, sure aneuch, 

It strak wi' fearfu' dirl; 
A puir newspaper chield it was, 

An' aft the fowk did wyte him 
For pawning that sad saul o' his 

In scraping up an "item." 

But fegs, to gie the deil his due, 

For facts should ne'er be slighted, 
At antrin times by chance somehow 

He gar'd the wrang be righted. 
An' sae when that erratic quoit 

Maist fell'd him wi' a tummle, 
Awa' it bounced wi' bev'llin' skyte, 

An' on the mott played whummle. 

Confusion seized baith auld an' young, 

Nae uproar could surmount it; 
Some vowed the quoit was fairly flung, 

Some said they couldna count it. 
The referee owned up at last 

'Twas past his comprehension; 
Quo' he, "Sic unco kittle cast 

Maun bide next year's convention." 

Then Willie aimed; while some ane, seized 

Wi' wildest quoiting clamor, 
Cries "Willie, raise your quoit, man, raise 't, 

An' strike this like a hammer ! 
'Twill ding auld Sandie's i' the yird, 

Ne'er let mischance defy you; 
You'll win the day, yet, tak' my word, 

Gude luck will ne'er gae by you," 



THE QUOIT PLAYERS. 113 

Encouraged, Willie wing'd his quoit 

Fair as a rocket spinning, 
While ilka ane in wild delight 

Were to the far end rinnin' ; 
When some rough chield, in reckless speed, 

Tramp'd on hisneibor's corns; 
When half a dozen heels owre head 

Fell like a pock o' horns. 

The quoit played thud, a murd'rous yell 

Proclaimed a new disaster; 
Some cried for mercy whaur they fell, 

Some cried for dacklin' plaister. 
Ane vowed the quoit had broke his back, 

Twa spak' o' waur distresses; 
Anither said he got a whack 

That crack' d a pair o' glasses. 

Some gabbled loud, some laugh'd like mad: 

Nae wild discordant rabble 
E'er sic supreme dominion had 

Sin' at the Tower o' Babel. 
But sweet accord cam' in at last, 

An' ilka honest billie 
Agreed that medals should be cast 

For Sandie an' for Willie. 

Like royal heroes, hame they cam' 

In glorious glee thegither, 
An' pledg'd their friendship owre a dram 

0' punch wi' ane anither. 
But nae like kings wha seldom care 

For chields when they've mischieved them. 
They baith watch 'd weel the sick an' sair, 

Till healing Time relieved them. 



114 THE QUOIT PLAYERS. 

Lang may they thrive, while ilk ane wears 

His honors nobly earn'd ; 
Frae persevering pluck like theirs 

A lesson might be learn'd. 
May quoiters' joys be mair an* mair, 

Unvex'd by sorrow's harrows : 
Sic hearty social chaps, I swear, 

I've never met their marrows. 




THE CAVALIER. 

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, 
And falls on the other side." 

— Shakespeare. 

|HERE was a gallant prick-the-louse, 
Fu' fond o' martial glory, 
Wha liked na sitting i' the house 
To hear an auld wife's story; 
But let him out in gaudy graith, 

Then firm as famed Achates, 
He'd think within himsel' — guid faith, 
He was nae sma' potatoes. 

An' when processions deav'd the place, 

Wi' fifing an' wi' drumming, 
Amang the foremost ye might trace 

That martial tailor coming. 
For wark he aye had some excuse 

An' put fowk in a swither, 
He might as weel hae left his goose 

An' lapbrod a' thegither. 

But whiles when things come till a height, 

An' a' 's as gleg's a wumble, 
Conceit will get an unco dicht 

An' pride will tak a tumble; 
An' sighs an' sabs will wring the face, 

An' conscience turn reviler; 
An' waes me ! here's an unco case — 

This military tailor. 
115 



116 THE CAVALIER. 

Some grand turn out there was to be, 

Nae ane had e'er seen larger; 
An' nought could please that tailor's e'e 

But mount him on a charger; 
Though weel I wat, wi' due regard 

To sic a feckless bodie, 
He would hae been far better sair'd 

Upon a cadger's cuddie. 

But fegs ! when mounted firm an' fair, 

Sic unco lift it lent him 
That had his grannie seen him there, 

Poor soul ! she wadna kent him — 
Wi' hat deck'd up wi' gamecock's tail 

That in the breeze was dancing, 
An' sword that swung like ony flail 

An' spangled bauldric glancing. 

O had the tailor's foot been set 

Upon a nest o' vipers, 
'Twere better fate than when he met 

That squad o' Highland pipers, 
Whase drones blew out a fearfu' blast 

An' scream' d ilk piercing chanter, 
Juist as the tailor bobbit past, 

Fu' gracefu' at a canter. 

Awa' the horse sprang wild wi* fright 

Like some mad spectral vision: 
An apple cart first felt his might — 

It was a sad collision. 
What e'er stood in his furious track 

Was knock'd amaist to flinders, 
The air was black wi' stour an' wrack, 

0' barrels fill'd wi' cinders. 



THE CAVALIER. 117 

The tailor prayed, the tailor yell'd, 

In dreadfu' consternation; 
But onward aye the charger held 

In awesome desperation. 
The fowk ran here, the fowk ran there, 

Wi' fear ilk lip did quiver, 
"Preserve us!" raise in wild despair, 

"He's making for the river!" 

An' sae it was in wild career, 

An* galloping an* prancing, 
The puir demented cavalier 

Beheld his end advancing; 
But when they reach'd the auld dry dock 

FilPd fu' wi' mony a sclutter, 
The horse stood still wi' sudden shock, 

An' dump'd him i' the gutter! 

There let him rest his weary banes, 

In waefu'-like dejection, 
While through his mony sighs an' granes, 

Fowk hear this wise reflection : 
"Oh, sirs! on foot I'll gang my road, 

Till life's last thread he clippit, 
An' sit me doucely on my brod, 

Though I grow horny-hippit." 

An' you, ye pipers, ane an' a', 

O pause an' weel consider, 
An' mak' your pipes fu' laigh to blaw, 

Or stop them a' thegither ; 
Ilk fearsome groan f rae ilk a drone, 

There's nought on earth that 's viler; 
Then see the dool ye've brought upon 

That military tailor. 



THE MINISTER-DAFT. 

[j-'OCK WABSTER, o' Girvan, cam' owre here 
to bide, 
But he cared na for f erlies a flee ; 
But to hear a' the preachers — O that was his pride, 

For an unco douce body was he. 
A pillar in Zion he'd been frae his youth, 

An' deep draughts o' doctrine he'd quaffed; 
An' sae schuled he'd aye been in the real gospel 
truth, 
Ye'd ne'er thought he'd gae minister-daft. 

When to Gotham he cam', preserve's what a steer! 

Ilk Sabbath, at break o' the dawn, 
He up an' awa' a new preacher to hear, 

Whaur gowpens o' logic were sawn. 
Three times i' the day, and aftentimes four, 

He listen' d to clerical craft, 
Till at last his een had sic an unco like glow'r, 

You could see he was minister-daft. 

To Beecher he gaed, wha vowed that the de'il, 

Was nought but some auld-warld blether ! 
To Talmage he tramp'd, wha proved juist as weel 

Fowk were a'gaun to Satan thegither! 
Then Ormiston showed how the foreordained few 

Were the only true heavenly graft. 
Jock couldna' see how a' their theories were true, 

Although he was minister-daft. 
118 



THE MINISTER-DAFT. 119 

Then Frothingham showed him — that lang-headed 
chap — 

How fowk were maist gomerals a' ; 
How priests an' how clergy juist baited a trap 

To lead puir silly bodies awa' ; 
How creeds an' how kirks an' a' siccan gear 

Were as frail as an auld rotten raft. 
Some fowk may dispute it, but ae thing was clear, 

Jock Wabster was minister-daft ! 

Still he tramp'd an' he trudg'd, an' hearken'd an' 
stared, 

Till at last, on a day it befell, 
He heard a Scotch ranter, wha baudly declared 

He had Heaven juist a' to himsel' ! 
Whaur he an' his half-dizzen bodies would bide 

In spite o' the devil's wrang waft, 
While the brunstane consumed a' the earth in its 
pride, 

No forgetting the minister-daft. 

How he stampit and reeng'damang lions an' lambs! 

An' beasts wi' big horns an' a* ! 
An' he- goats, an' dragons, an' deevils, an' rams, 

An' cantrips cuist up in a raw ! 
But the upshot was this, that Jock he thought shame; 

Now doucely he plies his ain craft, 
An' on Sabbaths he reads owre the gude book at 
name; 

So he's nae langer minister-daft. 



THE SPIRITUALIST. 

Glendower— I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
Hotspur — Why, so can I, or so can any man ; 

But will they come when you do call for them? 

—Shakespeare. 

JjT/gANGSYNE, when Tarn an' me were mates, 
J^=4 An' wrought an' swat thegither, 
O, mony kittle, keen debates 
We had wi' ane anither. 
An* aye Tarn took a stalwart stand 

On mystic speculation, 
An' dwelt upo' the spirit land 
Wi' muckle meditation. 

'Twas strange to hear him spread his views 

In unsubstantial theories; 
How spirits hover' d round like doos, 

Or danc'd about like peeries. 
How whiles, beyond frail man's control, 

They dwelt like bumbees by kit; 
Or whiles they wing'd frae pole to pole, 

Like thought — as fast's ye like *t. 

I bade him doubt sic unco things, 

Till he some proof could render; 
He bade me tak' the Book o' Kings, 

An* read the Witch o' Endor. 
120 



THE SPIRITUALIST. 121 

"An* doubt ae word o' God," quo* he, 

"As weel doubt a' the rest o't." 
An' facts are facts — 'tween you an' me, 

Tarn rather had the best o't. 



Till ae daft nicht when Tarn an' me 

Sat cheek an' jowl thegither, 
An' something he would let me see 

Would clear up ilka swither. 
Quo' he — " Juist speer if ghaists be here, 

Though nae man's e'e can see them; 
I vow to fate I've learned the gate. 

To haud a parley wi' them." 

"Ah, Tarn," quo I, "I've mourned the loss 

0' freends baith guid an' mony; 
Some worn wi' age an' warldly cross, 

Some young, an' blithe, an' bonnie. 
But nane e'er bravelier took my part, 

Nae freendship blossom' d riper; 
Nane had a warmer, kindlier heart 

Than Donald Koy, the piper. 

"O, aft when weary wark was dune 

Amang the woods a-roaming, 
Fu' mony a sweet an' blithesome tune 

Waked echoes i' the gloaming. 
An' rapt was ilka list'ning ear, 

While Donald piped his numbers; 
Now green's the sod that haps his bier 

Sin' cauld in death he slumbers. 



122 THE SPIRITUALIST. 

"But ere he dee'd he left to me 

A tune that ne'er was printed; 
It struck a wild, heroic key, 

But, like a gowk, I tint it. 
O, will ye speer if he be here — 

I'll never dare to doubt it — 
If ye' 11 wreat doun that martial tune 

Or tell me where I put it." 

Tarn tried to look like some auld seer, 

As weel as he was able, 
An' mummlet something laigh an' queer, 

Then grippit at the table. 
An', O preserve 's! I'm juist as sure 

As that my heart gaed thumpin', 
It raised its hint legs aff the floor, 

An' syne began a-jumpin' ! 

Sometimes it quiver' d i' the air, 

Wi' mony an eerie wobble, 
Sometimes it shoggled here an' there 

Like ony saumont cobble ! 
An' aye Tarn spelt his A, B, C's, 

An' marked them doun in batches; 
An' spun a screed out by degrees, 

Like telegraph dispatches. 

"He's here," quo' Tarn, "but deil tak' me 

If I can weel command him : 
He spells sae unco queer, ye see, 

I dinna understand him. 
His words are like some droll hotch-potch 

O' Hebrew or Italic; 
An' are ye sure he crack it Scotch, 

Or did he jabber Gaelic?" 



THE SPIRITUALIST. 123 

"O wheesht!" quo' I; "gin he be here 

I'll speak an invocation: 
O, Donald, if this earthly sphere 

Is now thy habitation, 
O dinna wing your airy flight 

Back through the blissful portals 
Before you throw some glint o' light 

On poor unhappy mortals. 

"O gin thy voice, that aye was sweet 

An' gentle as a woman's 
Could some celestial news repeat, 

I'd hail the heavenly summons; 
Or gin thy pipes are still in tune, 

An' still thy pride an' pleasure, 
O bring the echoes frae aboon 

In some seraphic measure!" 

Like thunder-claps whase sudden shock 

Aft rattles a' the dwallin', 
Wild, weird, unearthly shrieks out-broke 

Aneath the very hallan ! 
Wi' piercing screams an' awesome groans 

The very air wa' bizzin' ; 
It sounded like a hundred drones, 

An' chanters by the dizzen ! 

Tarn's hair stood up, an' strange to see, 

Ilk e'e sprang frae its socket; 
He glower' d an awesome glower at me, 

Then darted like a rocket. 
Then three times round the room he ran, 

The chairs an' stools a' coupin ; 
Then for the window sprang, puir man, 

As if he thought o' loupin'. 



124 THE SPIRITUALIST. 

I tauld puir Tarn the hale affair 

How it was a' pretenses ; 
How twa 'r three pipers hearkened there, 

To bring him to his senses. 
An' lang they blethered owre a dram, 

An' cheered Tarn up wi' toddy; 
But fowk remarked frae that day Tarn 

Was quite an altered bodie. 

Nae mair his mind is in the mirk, 

Wi' ghaists he doesna daidle; 
He's grown a deacon o' the kirk, 

An' passes round the ladle. 
An' though some think that Calvin's creed 

Is cauld an' warsh as drammock, 
Tarn kens it clears his gloomy head, 

An' suits his thrawart stammack. 

O ye wha your ain gates would gang 

On this truth keep reflectin' — 
The wayward will aye wanders wrang, 

Dool comes ye' re no expectin*. 
O, keep the faith that mony a Scot 

Won noble martyr's wreath in; 
The covenanted kirk ye've got 

Aye place your 'biding faith in. 




THE FEAST OF MACTAVISH. 

MERRY were the feasts at hame, 
Unmixed wi' care or dool, 
Lany syne in Angus braes when we 
Were laddies at the schule; 
An' aye the blithest o' them a' — 
The merry feast at Yule. 

But mony years hae pass'd sin* syne, 

And unco feasts I've seen: 
I've dined where gowden chandeliers 

Hae dazzled baith my een ; 
An' supp'd beneath the moon an' stars 

Far in the forest green. 

But a' the feasts that e'er I had, 

At hame or far awa', 
Or ever thought or dream'd about 

Or heard about or saw, 
That unco feast MacTavish made 

I think it crown M them a'. 

Lang had MacTavish wrought and tramp'd 

Owre mony a drumlie dub, 
To start in some wee Western toun 

A Caledonian Club, 
An' gather clansmen round himseP, 

Like spokes around a hub. 
125 



126 THE FEAST OF MACTAVISH. 

He shed incessant owre them a' 

The light o' wit an' sense, 
An' fann'd their patriotic fires 

Without a recompense, 
Except the loud applause that hailed 

His bursts o' eloquence. 

An* aye his head was pang'd sae fu' 

0' logic and o' lear, 
His brither Scots look'd up to him 

Wi' pride an' holy fear; 
An' aye the word was when they met— 

"MacTavish, tak' the chair.' ' 

At last MacTavish spread a feast 

0' dainties rich an' rare; 
An' a' the big fowk o' the toun — 

The Shirra an' the mayor, 
A Judge, sax Coun oilmen, for bye 

Twa editors — were there. 

The ha' was deck'd in rainbow hues, 

The pipes began to play; 
An' mony a kilted Scot was there 

In tartan's grand array; — 
An' proud they were, for ye maun ken 

It was the Auld Yule Day. 

The grace was said, the feast began 

Wi' kail baith het an' thin, 
An' scowder'd bannocks, birselt brown, 

An' tatties i' the skin. 
"Clean out your plates," MacTavish cried, 

"An' bring the haggis in." 



THE FEAST OF MACTAVISH. 127 

Wild clamor made the welkin ring; 

The bodies seem'd as glad 
As if the promised dish had been 

The only bite they had ; 
Like shipwreck'd waifs that hail a sail, 

They cheer' d an' cheer'd like mad! 

I wat it was an awesome sight, 

Grim, grewsome-like, an' black: 
The skin hung flypin' doun the sides 

In wrinkles lang an' slack, 
Like Jumbo hurklin' doun to get 

The bairnies on his back. 

O, then MacTavish smack'd his lips, 

An' glower' d wi' hungry e'e! 
"First pass the glorious dish amang 

Th' invited guests,' ' said he; 
"Be thankfu', freends, there is aneuch 

For them an' you an' me. 

"Gie double thanks, for there's a dish 

Might mak a sick man weel; 
Whaever eats his fill o' that 

Might dance a foursome reel; 
grand it is when ilka sup 

Melts in your mou' like jeel!" 

They mump'd like rabbits at the stuff, 

Their chaf ts gied mony a twine ; 
The Mayor wash'd twa 'r three spoonfu's doun 

Wi' waughts o' Adam's wine; 
The editors for ance agreed, 

An' said they liked it fine. 



128 THE FEAST OF MACTAVISH. 

"An* fine it is," MacTavish cried, 
Wi' muckle mirth an' glee; — 

"That's just the kind o' halesome food 
My mither made to me 

Langsyne, when I was herding kye 
Beside the water Dee. 

"0 if we had this ilka day 
We'd stand as stieve's a dyke! 

The waefu' weight o' weary wark 
Would be but little fyke; 

An' mony a creature wadna be 
Sae lantern-chafted like. 

"Frae this day, henceforth, and for aye- 
Bear witness while I speak — 

I'll eat nae skelps o' Texan steers 
That's frizzled i' the reek; 

I'll hae a haggis just like this 
Made ready ilka week." 

An' down upon his chair at last 

The bauld MacTavish sat, 
An' took a spoonfu' o' the dish; 

Then, like a cankert cat, 
His whiskers bristled i' the air, 

He glower'd, and fuff'd, and spat! 

"Preserve 's!" MacTavish wildly cried, 

"Whaur is that dosent doilt, 
Whase idiotic want o' sense 

Our glorious feast has spoilt? 
He's warm'd the haggis by mistak', — 

The ane that wasna boilt ! 



THE FEAST OF MACTAVISH. 129 

"0 mony a haggis I hae seen, 

Baith muekle anes an' sma', 
Some saft as cruds, some hard as brods 

Cut by a circ'lar saw; 
But never dream'd I'd live to see 

Fowk eat a haggis raw ! 

"But, freends, though unco sair it is 

To bear this sad mistake, 
A gleam o' glory gilds us yet, 

An' fient the dool we'll make: 
Wha wadna suffer pains and pangs 

For dear auld Scotland's sake?" 

Some cheer'd an' lauch'd, somegrowl'd an' glunch'd, 

Some said 'twas nae that ill ; 
Some proved how hard it is to be 

Convinced against your will ; 
But a' agreed to droun their waes 

In stoups o' barmy yill. 

An' ye whae'er shall hear o' this, 

O pass na lightly by, 
But learn to bide an' haud your weesht, 

An' mind an' watch your eye, 
An' no be roosing unco things 

Before ye taste an' try. 

An' you wha fain wad be genteel, 

O mak' this maxim plain — 
It's wiser whiles to mak' an' speak 

Opinions o' your ain, 
Than blindly tak' the bauldest thought 

O' ony mortal brain. 



THE WESTERN WAIF. 

jTLJE sat in the court where the prisoners sit, 
(^Jl And his face was haggard and grim; 
And a hundred curious, eager eyes 

Look'd stern and glared at him; 
Nor friend had he in that motley throng 

Save his sad-eyed brother Jim. 

And ever as link by link they brought 

The story from near and far, 
And ever as darker the picture grew 

With the shadow of bolt and bar, 
He look'd for Jim as the mariner looks 

For the light of the polar star. 

At last when the Judge had turn'd to the waif 

And ask'd if he'd aught to say, 
He rose to his feet, nor ever a trace 

Of fear did his face betray ; 
But he look'd at the Judge and he look'd at the throng 

In a manly kind of a way. 

"I won't go back on the things I've done 

Or the way that they might be put; 
I won't say many are worse'n me, 

Or some o' you folks might scoot ; 
I won't squeal now that you've got me fast, — 

I ain't that kind o' galoot. 
130 



THE WESTERN WAIF. 131 

"But s , pos , n , I'd bin of a different stamp — 

A tip-top kind of a lad, 
That work'd like a nigger from morning to night, 

And never once went to the bad, 
But come to the scratch like a man ev'ry time — 

I wonder what thanks I'd have had? 

"There's Jim — look at Jim! — he's done the square 
thing, 

No man can say nothing to him : 
He's just made up o' the whitest o' stuff, 

An' filled choke up to the brim ; 
You may talk an talk till the Fourth o' July, 

But there isn't a spot upon Jim. 

"When the Rebs crawled out from the old striped 
flag, 

Jim shouldered his gun — you bet ! — 
He didn't hang back like them big bounty chaps, 

That stay for all they could get : — 
Why, Judge — if them Rebs a-hadn't caved in 

Our Jim would been fightin' 'em yet ! 

"For down at the battle o' Shiloh, Judge, 

When Jim was a- waving his fist, 
A grape shot came with a whizz an' a bang! 

An' took it clean off by the wrist : 
Jim only smiled in his ord'nar' way, 

And said it would hardly be miss'd. 

"And the blacksmith made him an iron hook, 

And Jim kept his place in the line, 
And there wasn't a man in the old Ninth corps 

Could drop you a Reb as fine; 
For Jim, you see, had an iron nerve, — 

They warn't all shook like mine. 



132 THE WESTERN WAIF. 

"When Jim came back — did they give him a place — 

A good, fat office, or such? 
No! — Jim ain't the kind that goes snookin' around 

To see where he'll pick up a crutch; 
And there's nobody looks for the likes o' Jim 

To give him a lift — not much ! 

"But Jim don't ask no odds off a man 

Although he's short on a limb, 
And maybe Jim ain't a-caring to hear 

That I'm speakin' this way about him; 
Say, Judge you orter let up on a man 

That's gotten a brother like Jim! 

"And s'pos'n' I've done what I ortent a done, 
And the State's got the bulge upon me: 

The State hasn't done what it orter a done 
To a good un like Jim, d'ye see; — 

Say, Judge— God pardons the sinner because 
Christ died upon Calvary I" 

Then an angel of mercy seem'd somehow 

To dwell in each pitying look, 
And the Judge called out to the throng for Jim 

To come from his distant nook; 
And there wasn't a man in the crowd but came 

And wrung Jim by his iron hook ! 

And they aren't strait laced in those Western courts, 

And nobody cared to know 
If the law said this or the law said that, 

But they cried to give him a show; 
And so for the worth of the noble Jim 

They let the wild waif go. 




THE POACHER. 

HO is he that comes sedately, 
Bearded, muffled, dark and stately, 
With a rapid stride advancing 
And his keen eyes sideways glancing, — 
Glitt'ring like an unsheath'd dagger, 
And a wild, defiant swagger 
In his air, and all around him 
Wild-like as the wilds that found him 
Coming from their lone recesses — 
Wanderer of the wildernesses ? 

Well did ev'ry rustic know him : 
Many a kindness did they show him, 
When from midnight watch ings dreary, 
He sought shelter, wet and weary. 
Who that knew his wild vocation 
Held him but in admiration? 
Who that heard his direful doings, — 
Escapades from hot pursuings, — 
Saw his furr'd and feather' d plunder, — 
Loved but still to gape and wonder? 
Marvel at his tales, and listen 
Till their very eyes would glisten. 
For it seem'd as Nature meant it, 
Freedom's cause he represented; 
And his life's eventful story 
Seem'd to them ilium' d with glory. 
133 



134 THE POACHER. 

How good fortune ne'er forsook him; 
How disaster ne'er o'ertook him; 
How in ev'ry clime and season 
He succeeded, pass'd all reason. 
Oft the sportsmen in a bevy 
Volley'd at the scatter'd covey; 
And for many a wasted cartridge 
Home they brought a single partridge. 
Tarn, from some dark den or cavern, 
Or from some warm, wayside tavern, 
Ventur'd forth as daylight darken'd; 
Felt his way and watch'd and hearken'd 
Went by lone wilds unfrequented, 
Knew the place each creature haunted, 
Knew their various calls, and whether 
Spread apart or grouped together, 
He would find his way unto them ; 
And, as if dumb instinct drew them, 
One by one found resting places 
In his greatcoat's deep recesses; 
And the dawning daylight found him 
With his booty strung around him, 
Mix'd 'mong folks of sober paces 
Walking to the market places. 

Yet with all his easy gaining, 
Anxious care with him remaining, 
Ever in his mind ran riot 
Through dark regions of unquiet, — 
Regions sown with seeds of folly, 
Growing weeds of melancholy. 
And his life's first fond delusion 
Led to labyrinths of confusion; 



THE POACHER. 135 

Law had set her eyes upon him ; 
Loosed her hungry beagles on him ; 
And for all his vain parading 
Life to him was masquerading, — 
Outward — bright and bravely showing 
Inward — dark and darker growing. 

One fond hope his fancy treasured, 
Gleaming o'er life's waste unmeasured, 
Eadiant as a light before him 
Shedding sweetest influence o'er him 
Love had lit its fires within him; 
Love it was alone could win him 
From life's wild and wayward byways 
Back to its well-beaten highways. 

Oft when through the wilds he rambled, 

Or by cliffs and crags he scrambled, 

Or lay hid in darken' d corry, 

Visions came, as if a glory 

Touched the dark earth's face with whiteness; 

Lit the blacken' d air to brightness; 

Roused the man to hope and feeling; 

While in beauty there revealing 

To his ravish' d soul the splendor 

Of the bright eyes, sweet and tender, 

And the face that glowed serenely, 

And the torm so fair and queenly 

Of the Deeside Lass thrill'd through him; 

And the happy thought came to him 

That in some calm nook together, 

Some green glen beside the heather, 

Love and joy and peace would bind them, 

Happiness contented find them. 



136 THE POACHER. 

Never had his hopes been spoken, 
Never was love's silence broken: 
But he had begun to woo her 
As his dark eyes soften' d to her 
When they met by field or meadow, 
Met and pass'd like light and shadow; 
Felt her presence like caressing 
Linger with him like a blessing. 




THE DEESIDE LASS. 

" What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee who art so beautiful? " 

— Wordsworth. 

SHE lass was bonnie, and the Muse 

ft Knows hardly how or where to choose 

From things in heaven, or earth, or air, 
To match a lass so bright and fair. 
She was not just like heavenly things, 
Whose azure eyes and pearly wings 
Are only meant for realms of bliss 
And not for weary worlds like this. 
Yet there was something in her eyes 
So sweet, so calm, so heavenly wise, 
Unfathom'd in its depth it seem'd: 
A ceaseless fount of joy, it gleam'd 
Mysterious as the stars and free 
From shadows as a sunlit sea, 
Forever flashing, and the while 
Lit up with an eternal smile. 
Her wondrous wealth of golden hair 
Was lit with sunshine here and there. 
Her glowing face in rosy youth 
Breath' d innocence and trustful truth. 
Upon her forehead, broad and bare, 
The calmness of the summer air 
Seem'd resting as in perfect peace; 
There mortal passions seemed to cease 
137 



138 THE DEESIDE LASS. 

Their restless fires, and, shining there, 
The mind dwelt as a maiden's prayer, 
All pure in cloudless innocence, 
All strong in keen intelligence. 
What though her shapely arm and hand 
By toil 'neath summer suns were tann'd; 
What though her rustic, homely dress 
Showed labor's honest humbleness; 
There dwelt about her noble form 
The grace that grows in wind and storm, 
And gathers strength from ev'ry blast, 
Till fixed in stately form at last 
It standeth like the waving pine, 
Serenely in the calm sunshine, 
Serenely when the tempests lower 
It stands in beauty and in power. 
A ribbon bound her flowing hair 
Like Hebe bright or Juno fair. 
And such her form and artless grace, 
And such her sweet and noble face, 
That one beholding might divine 
She would have graced the fabled Nine 
Who dwelt on famed Parnassus hill, 
And drank Castalia's crystal rill. 
Thus walk'd she on the velvet grass, 
That bright-eyed, bonnie Deeside lass. 




THE MOURNFU' MITHER 

LEEZE me on a mither's love, 
Sae steady aye and Strang ; 
Nae love bides deeper i' the heart, 
There's nane that lasts as lang : 
Clear as the ever burning light 
O' some bright beacon flame, 
Through langest nights, through drearest hours, 
It sparkles aye the same. 

I'll ne'er forget that mither yet 

At Aberdeen awa' — 
Quo' she, ■ 'Ye've maybe seen my son 

That's in America? 
His een were blue, his hair it hung 

In yellow ringlets doun — 
Ye wadna see a lad like him 

In a' the country roun'. 

"And kindly letters lang he sent, 

That aye brought joy to me; 
They cam as gowden glints o' light 

Come owre the flow'ry lea; 
Till ance we heard he wasna weel — 

What ailed they didna say — 
An' then we've got nae ither word 

For mony a weary day. 
139 



140 THE MOURNFU* MITHER. 

"Ae langsome night I dreamed a dream 

I thought I saw his face, 
An' unco fowk were gather' d round, 

And in an unco place; 
They laugh' d, they sang, and blithely danc'd 

Wi' muckle mirth and glee 
But aye there cam' an unco lass 

Between my son an' me. 

"But if he's dead or if he's wed, 

O tell me a' ye ken ; 
I've dree'd the warst and hoped the best — 

Ay, owre an' owre again ! 
An' aft the saut tears blind my een, 

An' aft my heart's been sair, 
To think that e'er a bodie's ain 

Would mind their ain nae mair. 

"An* O, whaure'er his feet hae gane, 

Whate'er his luck has been, 
I'm sure he hasna met wi' freends 

Like them at Aberdeen. 
O, speak a kindly word o' them, 

An' maybe blithe he'll be 
To listen to your freendly crack, 

An' think o' them an' me. 

O, wanderers frae your native land, 

How can ye bear to see 
The sunlight o' a mither's love 

Grow dim on memory's e'e? 
O bask ye in its kindly rays, 

An' fan its fervid flames 
There's nae love like a mither's love 

This side the hame o' hames ! 



THE WIFE 0' WEINSBERG. 

ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER. 

GIN I kent whaur Weinsberg was, 
That toun o' muckle fame, 
Whaur Woman's worth the brightest blooms 
In ilka dainty dame; 
I'd choose a wife to cheer my life 
An mak' the place my hame! 

Langsyne King Conrad led his ranks, 

As ancient legends say, 
An' set them doun by Weinsberg toun 

In a' their fierce array ; 
Wi' axe and spear an' warlike gear 

They battled nicht an' day. 

For weeks they never closed an e'e, 

But foucht wi' micht an' main; 
The air was black wi' stoure and wrack, 

The arrows fell like rain ; 
The Weinsberg folk withstood the shock 

An' bauldly held their ain. 

Till worn at last wi' wastrife war 

Hope glimmer'd laigh an' dim, 
An' mauchtless hands let fa' the sword 

An' want glower'd gaunt an' grim; 
They sought for peace frae Conrad's grace, 

An' mercy begg'd frae him! 
141 



142 THE WIFE O' WEINSBERG. 

The king he swore a fearsome aith, — 

An' awesome king was he, — 
That ilka man an' mither's son 

O' high or low degree, 
Baith auld and young, he'd hae them hung 

Upon the gallows tree ! 

O mony hearts that day were sad, 
An' cheeks were blanch'd wi' fear! 

An' mony a weary, weary e'e 
Let fa' the saut, saut tear ! 

For scorn an' scaith an' shamefu' death 
Are unco hard to bear ! 

A Weinsberg wife whase wedded life 

But audit days joy had seen, 
Set out wi' courage gleaming through 

The love-licht o' her een ; 
Alane she stood for womanhood 

Before the king — a queen ! 

She pled the weary women's cause, 

In words baith fair an' fain, 
Since for the men sae scant o' grace 

Their prayers had been in vain, 
An' moved his heart to tak' their part 

An' save what was their ain. 

An' forth the royal mandate ran, 

That by his high decree 
The wives micht tak' their treasures out 

Whate'er their gear may be; 

The bauld and brave shoulc 

The women-folk," said he. 



THE WIFE O' WEINSBERG. 143 

What stir there was in Weinsberg toun ! 

What words o' joy they spak' ! 
As ane by ane each wife was seen 

Her man upon her back ! 
An' out the road each took her load 

Like peddler wi' a pack. 

Each lad to his ain lass he clung; 

The callants to their mithers ; 
The lassies blithely bore alang, 

Their wee, wee bits o' brithers; 
Maids found a mate, for bach'lors blate 

Had cuist aside their swithers. 

King Conrad glower' d amaz'd to see 

The triumph on its way; 
"Our royal word shall stand," said he, 

"Let come or gang what may, 
An' on my life the Weinsberg wife 

Has fairly won the day!" 

tell me now whaur Weinsberg lies, 

That toun o' muckle fame, 
Whaur Woman's worth the brichest blooms 

In ilka dainty dame, 
I'll choose a wife to crown my life, 

An' mak' the place my hame! 




THE DOMINIE AND THE BETHERAL. 

tHE Dominie sat and the Betheral sat, 
And stirr'd round their toddy wi' gJee: 
"A honnie-like scrape," the Dominie said — 
"An unco- like scrape," said he. 
"I wonder how fowk canna gang the right gate 
As doucely as you an' me. 

u O wha would hae thought that the bonnie young 
Laird, 

Sae modest an' winsome an' braw, 
Would e'er lost his wits wi' a jaud o' a lass 

An' run wi' the hizzie awa'? 
An' broken the heart o' his father, the Laird, 

An' madden'd the Lady an' a'. 

"An' yet wha can say that it's ill he has done? 

Though youth is aft foolish an' fain ; 
It's little o' joy that the blithest can get 

In this war Id o' trouble an' pain ; 
An' a burden o' care grows lighter, they say, 

When a lad has a lass o' his ain. 

"I've skeipit the bairns an' tutor' d them weel 

These thirty lang winters an' three; 
An' fient the ae glint o' a happy bit blink 

Has ever ance open'd on me, 
Till my heart's grown as sour an' my banes are as 
cauld 
As the rungs o' a fusion less tree. 
144 



THE DOMINIE AND THE BETHERAL. 145 

"An* aften at night when sleep winna come 

I lie an' I gaunt an' I grane ; 
An' the wind answers back wi' a sough i' the lum 

Like somebody making a mane; 
An' I wish that the years would tak' wings an* flee 
back, 

An' I was a laddie again. 

u O then wi' a weel-faur'd hizzie like Jean, 

I'd awa' to the land o' the free, 
An' bask ilka day in the light o' her smiles 

An' the bonnie blithe blinks o' her e'e; 
An' the carking cares o' this wark-o'-day warl, 

Would never ance settle on me. 

"Forbye," the Dominie wisely said, 
As he smack'd and smack'd at a sip, — 

"The lass was right when she stuck to the lad, — 
She was wise that keepit the grip; 

They seldom get twice the chance o' a lad 
If ever they let him slip. 

"An' the lad did weel when he stuck to the lass, — 
A braw strappin' quean an' a trim ; — 

She hasna left ane in the parish, I wat, 
Sae clean an' sae straught in the limb; 

Nae wonder I think on her beauty an' grace, 
Nae wonder I wish I was him. 

"But bide till the bairns come thrangin' around — 

For poor fowk never hae few — 
Like a cleckin o' birds a' scraighin for meat, 

An' ilka ane gaping its mou' : 
Poor Donald will think o' the fool that he was, 

An' wish he was single, I trow." 



146 THE DOMINIE AND THE BETHERAL. 

Then the Dominie laugh'dand the Betheral laugh'd, 

As if they would never have done. 
When one piped loud the other piped loud, 

Like chaffinches whistling in June ; 
When one squeak' d low the other squeak' d low, 

Like two old fiddles in tune. 

Then the Dominie finished his wandering speech, 

And said with a flash in his eye : 
* ! bide till a fortnight has sober'd them down, 

An' bide till the fever gae by, — 
The lad will be back to his father again 

An' Jean will be milking the kye. 

"Cauf -love's weel kent as a canny complaint 

That bides i' the heart nae mair 
Than the bonnie bit blink when a sunshiny shower 

Gars a rainbow glow i' the air; 
It's up like a flash an' awa' in a wink, 

As if it had never been there. 

"But here's to oursel's! May the comfort that comes 

Frae a drap o' the barley bree 
Aye cheer up our hearts in this warld o' change, 

Whatever the changes may be : 
Be they beddings, or burials, or flittings, or feasts, 

They're a' ane to you an' to me." 




THE AMERICANIZED SCOT; 

OR, 
JEM WILSON AND THE QUEEN. 

KEM WILSON was siccar, Jem Wilson was 
dour, 
Jem never let anything slip; 
Through thick an' through thin, through storm and 
through stoure, 
Jem Wilson he keepit the grip. 
Though he dwelt mony years in the wilds o' the 
West, 
Where the prairie spreads bonnie and green, 
He ne'er shook the auld yird frae his feet like the 
rest, 
For Jem couldna gae back on the Queen ! 

"I ken na how fowk can be ae thing this day 

And anither the morn, ,, said he, 
"But fools like a cheenge, an' gowks say their say, 

And they winna be guidit by me ; 
Some chields turn out bauld Republican loons, 

And forget what their forebears hae been, 
But there's heads that's ordained to be wearers o' 
crowns, 

And I canna gae back on the Queen !" 
147 



148 THE AMERICANIZED SCOT. 

Some lauch'd at his notions, some pitied his plicht, 

Jem cared na for daffin or jeers, 
Some said that his mind would let in the daylicht 

Jn the course o' a dizzen o' years. 
But the days slippit by and his heart beat in truth, 

To a lady he never had seen ; 
He forgot the maist feck o' the freends o' his youth, 

But he aye keepit mind o' the Queen ! 

Some said that the day when he left his auld hame 

Was the day he gaed back on them a' ; 
How the auld country f owk and their ways like a 
dream, 

Were worth naebody's notice ava; 
How the present is more than the past, and a man 

Is more than the laddie he's been; 
Jem stood like a rock where his childhood began ! 

Jem stuck like a clam by the Queen ! 

When ithers gaed wud in political war, 

An* grappled in fiery debate, 
Jem sat like a boulder on bleak Lochnagar, 

As lifeless as meat on a plate. 
Wi' ithers the sky was aft murky an' black, 

Wi' Jem it was calm and serene, 
They dwelt in the wrack o' the hurricane's track, 

Jem bask'd in the grace o' the Queen. 

When billies fu' pawkily hinted that Jem, 
Would mak' a grand Shirra or Mayor; 

How the fowk were juist waiting for stalwarts like 
him, 
To keep the young State in repair. 



THE AMERICANIZED SCOT. 149 

"Ye '11 hae to keep waiting/ ' said Jem, "if that's so, 
But ye needna blaw stoure in my een, 

Come weal or come woe wherever I go, 
Till death I'll be leal to the Queen!" 

At last— -wha can tell what fortune or fate, 

Will some day bring as our shares, — 
Some far awa' freend had left an estate, 

An' Jem — he was ane o' the heirs ! 
But the law o' the State sae craftily stood, 

Jem couldna lay hands on a preen, 
Till he swore aff allegiance to a' royal blood, 

An' save us ! especially the Queen ! 

Poor Jem never dream' d that the time would come 
round 

To test what his metal was worth ; — 
How sudden his braggin' was a' empty sound 

When he gaed to inherit the earth 
He ran an' he swore — on the Bible he swore — 

Wi' a terrible gleam in his een, — 
Jem Wilson was subject to princes no more, 

[Renouncing forever the Queen ! — 

But the warst o' 't was this, when Jem reached the 
spot, 

Wi' mony lang mile o* a tramp, 
Twa sandy bit hillocks stood guard owre a lot 

That measured ten acres o' swamp ! 
The crap o' mosquitoes an' puddocks was grand, 

But never a leaf that was green, 
A neuk o' a desert poor Jem had in hand, 

In exchange for the loss o' the Queen! 



150 THE AMERICANIZED SCOT. 

Now friends tak' a thocht and keep mind in your 
mirth, 
Though we lauch at the frailty o' Jem, 
When the Queen gets a chance o' some neuk o' the 
earth 
She winna be speerin' at him. 
When we vow that we'll stick by the things that we 
like, 
Juist think what the vanish 5 d has been, 
Fond fancies aft fade like the snaw aff a dyke, 
As fickle as Jem wi* the Queen ! 





THE ROYAL SCOT. 

The friends thou hast and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel." 

—Shakespeare. 

HEN through the mist o' vanish 'd years 
The past shines bright an' bonnie, O ! 
The gowden glow the vision wears 
I hardly share 't wi' ony, O ! 
But there is ane, fu' crouse an' keen, 

I like to mak' the sharer, O ! 
His honored name's weel kent to fame — 
The leal MacGregor Crerar, O ! 
I ken there's Duncan Crerar, O ! 
Ah, then, there's Duncan Crerar, O! 
The freend I've got 's a Royal Scot — 
The noble Duncan Crerar, O ! 

I canna bide the bleezin* halls, 

The haunts o' haverin' asses, O ! 
Whaur senseless fools at blithesome balls 

Are oxterin at the lasses, O ! 
I'd rather gae whaur I could hae 

A joy serenely dearer, O ! 
Some cozy place whaur, face to face, 
I'd sit and crack wi' Crerar, O ! 
There's worth in Duncan Crerar, O 
There's mirth in Duncan Crerar, ! 
There's hamely sense, without pretence, 
In dainty Duncan Crerar, ! 
151 



152 THE ROYAL SCOT. 

When Memory spreads her wandering wings, 

An' Crerar tells his stories, ! 
And bright in graphic grandeur brings 
Fair Scotland's glens an* corries, O ! 
The heather hills, the wimplin' rills, 

In fancy's e'e flash fairer, O ! 
Ilk hallowed place, an' form, an' face, 
Come at the call o' Crerar, O ! 
He's rare ! MacGregor Crerar, ! 
God spare MacGregor Crerar, ! 
He cracks sae fine that Auld Langsyne 
Is here again wi' Crerar, ! 

What couthy kirns! What gatherings blithe! 

What partings, sad and tender, O ! 
What light an' shade thegither kythe 

In panoramic splendor, O ! 
What glowing health ! What wondrous wealth 

0' life each seems the bearer, O ! 
How brisk and bright in living light 
They dwell wi' Duncan Crerar, O ! 
There 's heart in Duncan Crerar, O! 
There 's art in Duncan Crerar, ! 
The Scottish men frae hill an* glen 
Live in the brain o' Crerar, O ! 

When kirkyard tales come in his head, 

The light grows dim an' dimmer, O! 
The dead claes rustle round the dead ; 

The ghaist lights glance an' glimmer, O ! 
The mouldy banes, the sculptured stanes 

Are tragic wonders rarer, O ! 
Than actors' arts, whase weirdest parts 

Are no a match to Crerar, O ! 



THE ROYAL SCOT. 153 

What skill ! MacGregor Crerar, O ! 
To thrill ! MacGregor Crerar, O ! 
Play-actor fowks are maistly gowks 
Compared wi* Duncan Crerar, O ! 



Sometimes in verse his polished pen 

Flows on in stately measure, O ! 
Whiles round his board the brightest men 

Confab in princely pleasure, O ! 
How fine's the sight when genius bright 

Illumes each royal sharer, O ! 
The brain and tongue o' auld an' young 
Catch fire frae Duncan Crerar, O ! 
How bland 1 Duncan Crerar, O ! 
How grand is Duncan Crerar, O ! 
It 's wealth to clasp, in kinship's grasp, 
The noble freends o' Crerar, O ! 



But weak 's my Muse to chant his praise, 

Or sing his graces mony, O ! 
Weel worthy he o' loftier lays 

Than aught frae me, his crony, O ! 
As years row by, an' age comes nigh, 

I'll stick by him the nearer, O! 
For few there be that pleases me 
Like rare MacGregor Crerar, O ! 
He 's fine ! MacGregor Crerar, O ! 
He 's mine! MacGregor Crerar, O! 
I've straiked my loof in freendship's proof 
Wi' few like Duncan Crerar, O ! 



154 THE ROYAL SCOT. 

Auld Scotland's bairns hae wandered far 

Owre sea an' land an' river, O ! 
'Neath Southern Cross or Western star, 

They're Scots at heart forever, O ! 
By land or sea, whaure'er they be, 

The auld hame seems the fairer, O ! 
There 's thousands ten o' Scottish men 
That feel like Duncan Crerar, O ! 
I'm wi' ye! Duncan Crerar, O! 
Here 's to ye! Duncan Crerar, 0! 
Abroad or hame, Scots bless the name 
O' loyal Duncan Crerar, O! 




THE WANDERER 

LANG SYNE on the hills 2 where the blaeberries 
grew, 
And the laverock sang sweetly far up in 
the blue, 
Ilka day glided by like a lang happy dream, 
Till I hear my fond mither cry, "Laddie, come 

hame! 
Laddie, come hame! Laddie, come hame! 
You're lang awa' wandering, Laddie, come hame!" 

In a far awa' land, through the din o' the years, 
In the sunshine o' hopes, and the shadow o' fears, 
I hear a sweet echo still calling my name — 
And it's "Oh, but you're lang awa', Laddie, come 

hame! 
Laddie, come hame! Laddie, come hame! 
You're lang awa' wandering, Laddie, come hame!" 

Though life's fondest fancies are idle and vain, 
And my feet may ne'er tread the red heather again : 
In the land o' the leal, when I catch the first gleam, 
May I hear the glad welcome, "Laddie, come hame ! 
Laddie, come hame ! Laddie, come hame ! 
You're lang awa' wandering, Laddie, come hame!" 

155 



OCCASIONAL VERSES. 



TO HON. WALLACE BRUCE. 

O thou whose voice in crowded halls 
Fond mem'ry oft-time gladly hears, 

While thronging at thy clarion calls 
Come echoes of a thousand years, 

Wild ringing with the thrilling words,- 

A noble gift to noble use, 
Keen as the flashing, fateful swords 

Of Scotland's Wallace or her Bruce. 

Take thou these rustic random rhymes,- 
Poor token of a warm regard, 

Faint echoes of our tuneless times 
Caught by a humble brother bard. 



156 



o 



m THE GOLDEN CAGE. 



'EK the hills of effort lie 
Fields of opportunity. 



Wild ways, rank with brier and weed, 
Unto happy fortune lead. 
Early striving brings full soon, 
Golden, gladsome afternoon. 
Weary hours with labor spent 
Bring the twilight's sweet content. 
Earth's bright jewels shall be thine, 
Delver in the darksome mine. 
Effort, labor, toil and stress, 
Bring full measure of success. 

II. 

Such vain words were counted truth 
In my tame and tender youth, 
Hollow, tinkling platitudes, 
Learn' d in reverential moods, 
Taught with fervor and believed, 
Which nor years have undeceived. 
Not though near me, then and still, 
Horny hand and iron will 
Bent my elders with life's load 
Earthward on a darksome road, 
Dumb as cattle, poor as slaves, 
Tottering into nameless graves. 

157 



158 IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 

III. 

Wisdom, with thy starry eyes, 
Come thou from thy native skies, 
Shed thy light and we shall see 
All is but inconstancy. 
Life moves darkly as by chance 
Led by varied circumstance. 
Fortune's favor rarely falls 
Where the voice of merit calls. 
Knaves bloom bravely in our eyes, 
Goodness walks in dull disguise; 
Weak are we as passing breath, 
Hastening to the shades of death. 

IV. 

I, unthinking were and rude 
If unfelt deep gratitude 
That the hand of chilling age 
Finds me in this golden cage, 
Lifted heavenward as on wings, 
Far removed from earthly things. 
Here serenely set in truth, 
Comes to me my vanished youth, 
Graced with manhood's earlier charms, 
Clasps me in his iron arms; 
Soul and sense and heart and brain 
Transfigured to my self again. 



IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 159 



Brightlier blooms the golden hours, 
Efflorescent as the flowers; 
Panoramic splendors lie 
Glitt'ring 'neath a burnished sky; 
Burns the City's shining spires, 
Glowing into flaming fires,; 
Whitened miles of frescoed stone, 
Splendid as the Parthenon, 
Spread afar in square and street, 
Like a picture at my feet, 
Like a book whose storied page 
Opens to my golden cage. 



VI. 



Here the gathered navies rest 
On the water's shining breast; 
Here the great ships come and go 
On their journeys to and fro ; 
Here the storied castles rise, 
Climbing to the cloudless skies, 
Where the ever-flashing waves 
Of the full tide laps and laves. 
Yonder buttressed bridge towers stand, 
Giants stretching hand to hand, 
From their lofty shoulders down, 
Firmly linking town to town. 



160 IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 

VII. 

Westward, shadow-like and dim, 
On the far horizon's rim, 
Opalescent mountains show 
In the sunshine's golden glow. 
Eastward, ever-flashing white, 
Spreads the ocean, broad and bright. 
Nearer, clearer, free and bold, 
Headlands glitter, green and gold, 
Linger till day's parting smiles 
Rest upon a hundred isles. 
Where can fairer vision be, 
Than this city by the sea ? 



VIII. 

Sinks in flaming fire the sun ; 
Comes the twilight, pale and dun; 
Flash the myriad stars and soon 
Rides aloft the silver moon, 
While in splendor underneath, 
Woven wonders, arch and wreath, 
Cross and crescent, curve and line, 
Into burnish' d beauty shine; 
Beaded brilliance, looped and hung, 
Glittering garlands, twined and swung, 
Flame on fretted roof and tower, 
Heaven and earth one starry shower. 



IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 161 

IX. 



Bare it is, this shining show, 
Glittering grace and golden glow, 
Garner' d wealth from far and near 
Fashions into richness here. 
All the wonders of the East 
Brought as to a royal feast; 
All the richness of the West, 
All that's brightest, all that's best, 
Fragrant South and balmy North 
Pour their choicest treasures forth; 
Every clime and ev'ry age 
Cluster round my golden cage. 



Here, betimes, thick-thronging, fast, 
At my window moving past, 
Come the men of every clime, 
Some in manhood's golden prime, 
Some in boyhood's sunny grace, 
Shining eyes and radiant face. 
Lovely ladies bright and fair, 
Bosy cheeks and shining hair, 
Jewell' d dame and sober nun 
Pass serenely one by one, 
Maiden, matron, youth and age 
Moving past my golden cage. 



162 IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 

XL 

Think not they are nought to me, 

For in every face I see 

Some strange tale that moves and stirs, 

Writ in magic characters, 

Some brief look or crumb of speech 

Comes within my little reach, 

Rhythmic as a soulful song, 

Swiftly comes and lingers long, 

Weaves in every passing glance 

Fragments of a strange romance, 

Visions darkly understood, 

Echoing in solitude. 



XII. 

Here in restful ease, it seems, 
Days move by like pleasant dreams; 
Earth and air in sweet commune, 
Like an everlasting June, 
Knows no sudden check or change 
Into something new and strange. 
All the weary stress and strife, 
All the carking cares of life, 
Seem removed or gently come 
Like the City's distant hum, 
Sweetly softened, grave or gay, 
Musical and far away. 



IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 163 

XIII. 



Here the light task passes soon, 
And the drowsy afternoon 
Sees me turning Chaucer's page 
Till his cheery pilgrimage 
Brings the traveller's lengthened line, 
Numbering up to twenty-nine: 
One by one, and two by two, 
Pass along in bright review; 
Past and present seem to blend, 
Never shall their journey end: 
Centuries vanish, but to-day 
All his pilgrims pass'd this way. 



XIV. 

Ah, had I his matchless grace, 
Here are ev'ry form and face, 
Here ten thousand might begin 
Journeys from a Tabard Inn, 
Till the far extended line, 
Stretching to a distant shrine, 
Turned again and slowly wound 
In an everlasting round, 
Fortune's fav'rites lucky-starred, 
Grizzled vet'rans battle-scarr'd, 
Soul and sense and heart and mind, 
Every type of humankind. 



164 IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 

XV. 

Idle thought — the poet's eye 
All the varied forms descry, 
Sees them in that larger view, 
Comprehends them through and through, 
Knows each type, and in his songs 
Places them where each belongs; 
High or low, or coarse or fine, 
There are only twenty-nine, 
Carved some type to represent, 
Like a graven monument. 
Chaucer knew them all and fix'd 
Each his place distinct, unmix'd. 



XVI. 

Let us gather from his lay 
We are pilgrims for a day, 
Fashioned by a Hand Divine, 
Travelling to a distant shrine, 
Knowing that like ships are we, 
Drifting on a pathless sea, 
Hither blown by fate or chance, 
Accident or circumstance. 
Let us strive for gifts of grace, 
Each to know his proper place, 
And contented thereupon, 
Cheer his fellow-traveller on. 



IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 165 

XVII. 



Let us learn as in our way, 
Life is but an April day; 
Hollow winds and sudden showers 
Blast the bloom of early flowers, 
Springtime's breath by winter chill' d, 
Hope's fair promise unfulfilled; 
Happy they whose checker' d trip, 
Grac'd by fair companionship, 
Learns to know in calm content 
Labor is not punishment. 
Toil an endless joy should be, 
Idleness is misery. 



XVIII. 

Let us cherish as we go 

They whose pace is weak and slow, 

Shed the light of jocund joy 

All around us, and employ 

All our little skill to bring 

Goodness out of everything, 

And however low our lot, 

We might brighten some dull spot, 

Stir the fading fires of hope 

And with doubt and darkness cope, 

While fair wisdom's golden ray 

Whiles a happy hour away. 



166 IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 

XIX. 

Envying not the rich or great, 

Whatsoever our estate, 

Little boots it more or less, 

Riches are not happiness, 

Envy hath its hidden stings 

In our vain imaginings. 

Could we see with clearer eyes 

Those who dwell where fortune's skies 

Seem illumed with golden rays, 

Could we mark their tedious ways, 

We would hear each one confess 

Wealth is kin to wretchedness. 



XX. 

Sober joys are always sweet 
In the vales of low retreat ; 
Nature wears her gentlest mood 
In the lowly solitude. 
Sparkling splendors, beaming bright, 
Mark the towering mountain's height, 
Dazzling with a glittering glow, 
Seen by longing eyes below ; 
Grander seem they from afar, 
Than when resting where they are; 
There the wild winds rave and pierce, 
There the storms are cold and fierce. 



IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 167 

XXL 



March on bravely day by day, 
Like the pilgrims grave or gay. 
Fret not if the motley throng 
Knaves and fools are mix'd among, 
Kindly cherish each and find 
There are good in ev'ry kind. 
Dwell not on their weaker parts, 
They have only human hearts. 
Strive to make life's journey seem 
Pleasant as a happy dream: 
Kindly words like choicest seeds 
Blossom into noble deeds. 



XXII. 

Pales the slowly sinking sun, 
And the journey nearly done. 
Who would care to linger on, 
When the lights of life are gone % 
Shall we turn again and be 
In another company? 
."No, the next, the coming age, 
Starts upon its pilgrimage. 
We have been what they shall be, 
We have seen what they shall see, 
We have heard what they shall hear, 
We have voiced our words of cheer. 



168! IN THE GOLDEN CAGE. 

XXIII. 

Fear not though the darkness falls 
On the shrine's mysterious walls; 
Other feet have gone before 
Through the ever-open door, 
Other weary feet shall come 
To the shrine where all is dumb; 
High or low or small or great, 
None need strive with iron fate, 
Come as travellers weary-worn, 
Fret not of another morn, 
Blest are we when falling deep 
In a long and dreamless sleep. 



XXIV. 

If the awful change reveals 

What the darkening day conceals, 

And the doubtful darkness brings 

Light beyond imaginings, 

We, to larger vision grown, 

All our faults and frailties known, 

And with nearer, clearer view, 

See each other through and through, 

Brighter-visioned, we shall know 

God who made us wilPd it so ; 

Nought in nature or in art 

E'er could change our destined part. 



TO QUEEN ALEXASTDRA. 

NO lady fair in hall or bower, 
In days when knighthood was in flower, 
Or high-born dame with jewels set, 
Or Tudor or Plantagenet, 
E'er wore enwreath'd on form and face 
Thy royal robe of richest grace. 

Thou dwellest like a golden gleam 
Of hill and vale and glassy stream, 
Where flowery banks and leafy trees, 
And song of birds, and hum of bees, 
Charm eye and ear till soul and sense 
Are rapt by nature's eloquence. 

May love's warm sunshine round thee cling 

With joys beyond imagining, 

And fortune's favors, full and free, 

Come fast and flowing as the sea, 

While ever in each loyal heart 

The royal queen of queens thou art. 



169 



TO MRS. J. M. R 

YOU'VE heard it said that different men 
They canna aye agree, 
An' sae there might be odds, ye ken, 
Between your man an' me. 

For him, he 's studied ancient art, 

Auld warks wi' unco names, 
Until his hand 's grown real expert 

At Greek an' Roman dames. 

For me, frae hame I wadna gae, 

The simple truth to tell; 
The only model I would hae 

Would be your bonnie sel\ 

And as the famous job I'd mak 

To high perfection grew, 
I'd slack my hand an' turn an' tak 

The tither glower at you. 

Then fame would keep our memories green 

Among immortal names, 
And wondering fowk would swear I'd seen 

An angel in my dreams. 
170 



KO?BEET BUCHANAN. 

LET the bells of London toll 
For a grandly gifted soul; 
Silent be the busy throng 
While a peerless prince of song 
Passes shrouded to his rest 
With the bravest and the best. 
Lay him in his honored tomb 
Where the fairest flow' rets bloom; 
Wreathe the blossoms fresh and sweety 
Plant the daisies at his feet; 
Twine the roses, white and red, 
Bound about his noble head. 

Poet! in whose varied verse 
All the muses might rehearse 
All the forms and all the fire 
Warbled by the tuneful lyre ; 
Tragic, mirthful, tender, sweet, 
In a flood of fancies meet, 
Swaying with thy accents strong 
All the winning wiles of song, 
Till each sympathetic soul, 
Mastered by thy mild control, 
Owns thy witch'ry and admires 
Poesy's celestial fires. 
171 



1721 ROBERT BUCHANAN 

Wizard ! from whose cunning hand 
Hose, as if from fairyland, 
Magic scenes on storied page, 
Stirring life on mimic stage: 
Full of laughter and of tears, 
Full of tender hopes and fears, 
Rich in grandeur and in gloom, 
Rich in beauty and in bloom: 
Fired with madness, sweet with grace, 
All the feelings of our race — 
Passion, pathos, pity — all 
Come illumin'd at thy call. 

Friend! where'er thy heavenward flight, 
Wing'd through realms of quenchless light, 
Onward in thy glorious course, 
Homeward to thy primal source, 
Unimagin'd splendors be 
Waiting somewhere long for thee. 
Kindred souls, to greatness grown, 
Greet thee gladly as their own; 
Rest, that like a blessing lies 
Beaming in thy radiant eyes, 
Peace, indwelling like a grace, 
Glow like sunshine on thy face. 



ALEXANDER JOHNSTON CHALMERS 
SKENE, M.D., LL.D. 

On the Occasion of Unveiling His Monument, 
May 5, 1906. 

SWEET Speing her charms to Nature yields, 
And waking from her wintry tomb, 
Comes freshly forth to deck the fields 
In beauty and in bloom. 

So we, with feelings warm and strong, 
Come forth with loving hands to place 

The graven shape of Skene among 
The noblest of our race. 

Earth, that hold'st his honored dust! — 
There dwelleth, fragrant as thy flowers, 

Enshrined in Memory's treasured trust, 
His wealth of princely powers. 

He wrought with kindly, strong desire 
To soothe the sufferings of our kind, 

With more than mortal strength and fire 
And mighty heart and mind. 

m 



174 ALEXANDER J. C. SKENE, M.D., LL.D. 

Men loved and praised him, for the grace 
Of goodness swayed his tongue and pen, 

While, more than fame or power or place, 
He loved his fellow-men. 

And women blessed him; for their weal 
His master-hand wrought full and free, 

With something of the power to heal, 
Like Him of Galilee. 

And ever where the hand of death 

Seem'd with the fiercest force express'd, 

He fought, as in the battle's breath, 
Our bravest and our best. 

Till, soldier-like, with soul aflame, 
Undaunted when the battle lowers, 

He answered, when the summons came, 
In happier spheres than ours. 



IN GOD WE TEUST. 

Ein Eeste Burg 1st Unser Gott. — Luther's Hymi%. 

WE wander into paths unknown, 
But still the kindly ray 
Of light that shineth from God's throne 
Illumes our varied way. 

Not to our eyes His face can be 

A shadow dark and dim, 
But day by day our eyes can see 

A nearer view of Him. / 

He knows our weakness, and our ills 

Are His especial care: 
His bitter cup He never fills 

With more than we can bear. 

If Life's thick-thronging, tiresome task 

A heavy burden be, 
Ask of Him as a child may ask, 

And He will answer thee. 

If Hope's dull embers faintly glow, 

And friends seem far and few, 
And death's dark angel, our last foe, 

Hath smote the loved and true, 

1175! 



176 IN GOD WE TRUST. 

Despair not, for the good await 

That golden morn to be, 
To meet us at the pearly gate 

Beside the jasper sea. 

And light or darkness, life or death, 
What e'er the future brings, 

Still be our refuge underneath 
The shadow of His wings. 

And grace shall guide us day by day 

With patience to endure, 
Until the shadows flee away,. 

Because our trust is sure. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



AT BANNOCKBURN 

READ ON THE HISTORIC BATTLEFIELD AT THE 600TH 
ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION, JUNE 24, 1914 

LORD GOD to Thee our thanks we send, 
That by Thy grace and sovereign will, 
To Thee alone we suppliant bend, 
In Freedom's sunshine basking still, 
And pray that through the years to be 
We own no other power than Thee. 

Here on this hallowed ground we've met 
Unchanged through all the changing years, 

Tried, as by furnace fires, but yet 

Our eyes undimmed by hopeless tears. 

For through the darkest days we see 

Fair Scotland still sustained by Thee. 

Six hundred years have passed since they, 
Our fathers, stood, in martial squares, 

Embattled on that fateful day 

And raised to Thee their humble prayers, 

While 'midst their varied hopes and fears 

Thy sunshine glittered on their spears. 
177 



178 



AT BANNOCKBURN. 



O, give to us their fiery zeal, 

Their hate of wrong, their love of right, 
Their souls of fire, their hearts of steel, 

Their unity of matchless might, 
Till "Wrong and Error fall before 
Our strength as in the days of yore! 

On land or sea where'er we are, 

Where Scotland's children wander forth, — 
Our native land, — the Polar Star, — 

Still steadfast to the loyal North, 
Each Scottish heart doth ever turn 
And thrills to think of Bannockburn ! 

Still stands the Castle on the hill, 

Still flows the Eiver to the sea, 
Still in each heart the iron will, 

The quenchless love of liberty. 
Still stand the Scots for truth and right 
Like spearmen ready for the fight. 

The gray mist gathers round the height 
And wreathes each purple mountain's crown, 

The flashing waters still delight 
In silvery splendor rushing down — 

And still in memory's charmed ears 

Come echoes of the vanished years. 

And Scotland's splendor ever shines 

Heroic still in face and form, 
Encircled fair in glowing lines, 



AT BANNOCKBURN. 179 

Like rainbows, gathered from the storm, 
And Hope still pointeth fair and free 
Into the days that are to be. 

The patriot's fire, the poet's grace, 
Have spread the glow of Scotland's fame 

Until Earth's furthest dwelling place 
Hath swelled the tumult of acclaim, 

And storied page the tide prolongs, 

And echo revels in her songs ! 

So, glory-crowned, shall Scotland stand 

Until in that diviner day 
The sword shall fall from Eapine's hand 

And dark Oppression fade away, 
And, joined in Thy eternal plan, 
Man shall be knit to brother Man. 

Then through serener, kindlier eyes 

The happy nations backward turn, 
And mark the potent prophecies 

Of Marathon and Bannockburn 
Commingling with the golden seed 
Of Pilgrim Kock and Runnymede. 

Then when Earth's war-worn shields are hung 
Around the halls where nations meet, 

And tales are told, and songs are sung, 

None shall resound more grand and sweet 

Than thine, brave Scotland! — old, yet new, — 

Thou cradle of the tried and true! 



IN NEW ENGLAND 

ON VISITING THE LAND OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

I dreamed of one who stood and sung 
Outside the busy market place, 
There was a sweetness in his tongue, 
A graveness in his thoughtful face. 
I listened, watched, and wondered why 
The heedless throng went hurrying by. 

For through his songs far echoes came 

Of Nature's elemental strife, 
The warring thoughts, the fiery flame 

Of deeds that mark heroic life. 
The mysteries of life and death 
Grew vocal with his living breath. 

He gentle seemed, but whiles a flash 
Of fire would light his lustrous eye, 

As when some echoing thunder crash 
Disturbs the sombre, sullen sky ; 

Then words came from his quivering lips 

As weird as the Apocalypse. 
180 



IN NEW ENGLAND. 

He loved the crowd, he watched the throngs, 
And marked their diverse moods and ways, 

And ever in his warbled songs 
They lived again in lyric lays ; 

Yet still his manner would express 

His deeper love of loneliness. 

About himself he never thought 
Or seemed to think as others do ; 

For place or power he never sought, 
Yet he to larger stature grew 

Till strength and wealth and pomp and pride 

Grew less and lesser by his side — 

Until amid the wondering throng, 
He, statue-like, to greatness grown, 

Boiled out the thunders of his song 
Until their hearts were all his own, 

And far and near they gathered round 

To listen to the magic sound. 

The sunshine flamed upon his brow, 
Strength lent his form a god-like grace, 

And wisdom wrote in gold somehow 
Her shining letters in his face ; 

Yet seemed he evermore the same 

Amid the tumult of acclaim. 

From him the future grandly glowed, 
As if an eternal youth, 



181 



182 in NEW ENGLAND. 

The coming race sublimely showed 

A stronger love of worth and truth; 
And man with man serenely stood 
In universal brotherhood. 

Age touched him lightly as the dew 
Falls in the twilight faint and dim, 

He more and more angelic grew 

Till time and grace transfigured him. 

A whitened glory bright and fair, 

Like snow, fell on his silvery hair. 

At last he, marble-like, became, 

And round his head a woven wreath 

Green blossomed, ever more the same, 
Immortal-hued, defying death, 

Glowed in the sunshine and the storm 

And nobly crowned a saint-like form. 



ROBERT BURNS 

IMPERIAL City of the West, 
Far-shining at thy glittering gates, 
The fires of Liberty attest 
The trust that on thy worth awaits. 

Thou in thy civic splendor set, 

Thou in thy joyance glad and gay, 

Keep bright remembrance nor forget 
The memory of this hallowed day 

When Burns, fair Scotland's prophet-bard, 
Sprang, god-like, from the humble sod, 

And, king-like, won the world's regard 
Through all the paths his fancy trod. 

He sang the Freeman's song that breathes 

Of Nature's universal plan; 
He wove the garland that enwreathes 

The native dignity of Man. 

He taught the common love of men, 
The cloudless calm of sweet content, 

And through his songs his winged pen 
Proclaimed the foreordained event 
183 



184 ROBERT BURNS. 

When all the warring lands shall cease 
Their rival claims on land and sea, 

And, bright, the gladdening sun of Peace 
Shall light the days that are to be. 

O hearts grown hard with greed of gain, 
eyes with eager watching dim, 

Your primal love of right retain 
And learn the golden truths from him ! 

So lit by Poesy's heavenly flame 
Behold through clearer eyes serene 

The meaning of his matchless fame 
And keep his blessed memory green. 



IN BROOKLYN 

WHAUR Brooklyn on its famous heights 
Displays the charms o' yon town 
Fu' braw an* bonnie are the sichts 
That cheer the heart in yon town. 
There art combines wi' nature's grace 
To charm the ee in ilka place ; 
It's couthy as a friendly face — 
The blythesome blink o' yon town. 

The freckfu' fowk are braw an* weel 
That mak' their hames in yon town, 

An' ilka bodie's real genteel 
Ye chance to meet in yon town ; 

There's worth, an' wit, an' social glee, 

An' billies blythe as blythe can be, 

An' aye a cosy neuk for me 
Whene'er I gang to yon town. 

I've wandered East, I've wandered West, 
I've wandered far frae yon town, 

An' aft I wiss'd my lot was cast 
Among the fowk in yon town, 
185 



186 IN BROOKLYN. 

But like a wild bird far an* free, 
I '11 wing my way owre land and sea 
To haud anither jubilee 
Among my f reends in yon town. 

The Fulton Ferry used lang syne 

To float me owre to yon town, 
They built a brig sae braw an' fine 

To tak' me owre to yon town, 
But now it's neither boat nor brig 
But lounging in an auto rig, — 
Nae wonder though I whiles feel big 

Whene'er I gang to yon town. 

But mark me in the by and by 

Neist time I visit yon town 
Through heaven's blue vault I'll cleave the sky 

An' drap richt down on yon town, 
Nae boat or brigs or cars for me, 
A winged seraphim I'll be, 
An' mony years I hope to flee 

Through sapphire skies to yon town. 



OUR LADY MARGARET 

LET others sing the blooming charms 
Of gay and gladsome youth, 
And rave till fiery fancy warms 
The duller tints of truth — 
I sing of one who, like the sun 

When lesser lights are set, 
Shines ever clear our central sphere — 
Our Lady Margaret. 

The varying seasons come and go 

In never-ending stir, 
She, calmly, as the rivers flow, 

Reveals no change in her. 
She, Juno-like — divinely tall, 

Serene beyond regret, 
In grace and goodness — all in all — 

Our Lady Margaret. 

Our lives are like the restless tides 

By changeful breezes tost. 
And weary memory long abides 

Around the loved .and lost. 
But still whate'er our paths should mar 

There's golden goodness yet, 
Like her, our queenly northern star — 

Our Lady Margaret. 
187 



ANNIE ANDERSON 

I sat at e'en on Clochnaben, 
Neist day I clamb big BenacHe, 
Whaur nature's charms sae gay an' green 
Spread lavish to the longing ee ; 
But naething bloomed sae blythe to see, 

In gloaming gray or noonday sun, 
As ae braw lass that smiled on me — 
The bonnie Annie Anderson. 

Her een were star-like in their glance, 

Her lips like rose leaves wet wi' dew. 
Her voice like music when the dance 

Thrills ilka bodie through an 7 through; 
Her cheeks were like the buds that blew 

When heather bells had juist begun — 
In angel choirs there maun be few 

Compared wi' Annie Anderson. 

if I live a hunder years, 

Till earthly hopes shall fade an' flee, 
An' a' the weary warld wears 

A cauldrife, cankert look to me. 
There's ae glad memory aye shall be 

Like silvery streams that onward run 
Through time unto eternity — 

The bonnie Annie Anderson ! 
188 



TO MY NIECE JESSIE 

For whom bind'st thou in wreaths thy golden 
hair?" Horace, Ode V. Lib. 1. 

OH, JESSIE ! when I heard the news 
That ye were gaun to marry, 
Fu' dowie was my hamely Muse, 
I thought that ye would tarry 

Until I left my f reends sae crouse 
An' you would leave your mither; 

Then canny in some cosie house 
We'd settle down thegither. 

But Fate's decree, ah, mercy me! 

My day dreams I maun banish, 
An* you an' me in blythe Dundee 

Frae Hope's fair sky maun vanish. 

I doubt if e'er I cross the sea 
Ye winna speak to puir f owk, 

Because I'm sure your man will be 
As proud as any muir cock. 

He could na look me in the face, 

I hope he'll be forgiven; 
He's robbed me o' my resting place, 

My dream o' earthly heaven! 
189 



190 



TO MY NIECE JESSIE. 

Ye need na send your picture owre 

Enrobed in bridal dresses, 
Through Fancy's ee I aften glower 

An* mark your wavy tresses, 

Your starry een o' loyal blue, 
Your smile sae blythe an* bonnie,— 

The ruby rosebud o' your mou 
That's sweet as heather honey! 

Your noble grace, your winsome face 
That maks me daft an* dafter, 

An' fills my dreams o* angel themes 
Baith now as weel's hereafter. 

Nor need ye send me picture cards 

0' Pillars or o' Steeple, 
Nor couthie words o* warm regards 

Frae a* the kindly people. 

I see them a* — the Town, the Law, 
An' Tay's clear silvery river, 

An* thou, the spirit o' them a', 
Forever an' forever! 



NEIL MAC DONALD'S ELEGY 

COME thou, my Muse, an' help to bear 
The pang that draws the saut, saut tear 
For him that we may see nae mair — 
The gifted Neil MacDonald ! 

Lang syne when Neil was at his heicht, 
Like Jupiter he ruled the nicht. 
An' few there were that shone as bricht 
As clever Neil MacDonald ! 

Poor Neil, he had his ups an* douns 
'Mang writer chiels in muckle touns, 
The prince o' a' the lang-haired loons 
Was worthy Neil MacDonald ! 

A nicht wi' him was worth a week, 
He kent the Latin an' the Greek. 
An* Gaelic, too, there's nane could speak 
As clear as Neil MacDonald O ! 

A bard was he o' muckle worth, 
Like Ossian o' the mystic north, 
Frae John o' Groat's to river Forth 
There's few like Neil MacDonald 0! 
191 



192 neil mac donald's elegy. 

Ah, simple, social, noble Neil ! 
Though crushed by Fortune's iron wheel, 
Wha kens but in some blissfu' biel 
There's room for Neil MacDonald 0! 

In starry spheres wi' cares unvexed, 
Should spirits hae a knotty text, 
How blest they'll be whae'er sits next 
To learned Neil MacDonald ! 

For here, or through the ages dim — 
Or journalist, or seraphim — 
There was a kindly saul in him — 
Valere!— Neil MacDonald 0! 



I 



THE DEPARTED 

WONDER if the happy dead 

Can see us from their blissful spheres, 
And if by God-like goodness led 
They come to stem our rising tears. 



I know not, but a burning hope 
Lights up my darkest hours because 

Full often when my eyelids drop 
The dead fills in the peaceful pause. 

They may not speak, they rarely look 
Though present to the inward sense, 

Quick-known as some familiar book 
Replete with high intelligence. 

Serene they dwell in sunny plains, 
A rainbow splendor round them clings, 

Care-free from fretful fears or pains 
Or earth's incessant murmurings. 

Perchance these visions from afar 
Are but the work of Fancy's hand, 

As one beneath an alien star 
Dreams idly of his native land ; 
193 



194 THE DEPARTED. 

Nor darksome days his vision brings, 
But Nature in her sweetest tune 

Comes garlanded in flowers and sings 
A song of everlasting June. 

Howe'er it be, loved and lost! 

I would not, knowing, do thee wrong ! 
visions of the heavenly host, 

Yours is the life for which I long ! 



IN THE WORLD WAR TIME 



THE CALL OF THE WAR PIPE 

Isit an* I dream in the gloamin' at hame 
Fu' calm in a weel sheltered nook, 
An* some maister mind the best o' our kind 
Shines out f rae some auld-f arrant book ; 
But down the braid street there 's a trample o' feet 

An* the blast o' a bugle an' a'; 
Forbye there's a sound that will never be drowned 
As lang as there's pipers to blaw. 

there's pipers an' drummers an' a', 

An' banners an' ribbons fu' braw; 
An' my dreams danee a reel at the flash o' the steel 

An' I'm up wi' the lave an' awa', 
An' it's " Bundle and Go" that they blaw, 

An' I gie them the double hurrah, 
An' there's cheers an' salutes for the gallant recruits 

An' the Scots at the head o' them a' ! 
195 



196 THE CALL OF THE WAR PIPE. 

Then here's to the brave an* the leal, 



An' here's to the gallant an' true; 
An' here's to the kilt an' the sword to the hilt 

In the hearts o' the Kaiserized crew! 
An' here's to the bonnets o' blue 

On the heads o' the bold an' the free, 
May they cock up the crest wi' the bravest an* best 

"Wherever the battle may be. 

The pipers are brithers o' mine 

An' lang may their bellowses blaw, 
My Muse needs nae mair than an auld Scottish air 

To spread out her pinions an' craw 
For the guid an' the bonnie an' braw — 

To cheer honest Liberty's cause, 
An' ilk worthy Scot to stand up an' tak' note 

An' join in the kindly applause. 

Awa' wi' your operas that nil 

An hour an' a half ere they're past, 
But gie me the numbers that thrill 

Clean through f rae the first to the last, 
Then double it back wi' a blast 

An' repeats it wi' micht an' wi' main ; 
An' we ken when the tune is finished an' dune 

An' wiss we could hear it again. 

It wings me awa' to the hills 

"Where the red deer rustles an' rins, 
An' I fain would lie down by the clear wimplin' rills 

An' be hid in the heather an' whins; 



THE CALL OF THE WAR PIPE. 197 

But here's where a lesson begins, — 

At our duty we maunna rebel, 
Though a man's at his best if it comes to the test 

"When he's left for a while to himseP. 

The war pipe's a charmer to me, 

The drones an' the chanter an' a', 
Like a lad for his lass there 's nought can surpass 

Or bring him sic pleasure ava ; 
There's magic in blasts that they blaw, 

For things that I 've heard or I 've seen 
Just come in a rush like the buds on the bush 

When the woodlands are mantled in green. 

There's a wail for the brave that's awa', 

There's a lilt for the blythe that's at hame; 
An' the fit o' the stave for them i' the grave 

An' the tap for the summits o' fame; 
But the dead or the living's the same, 

Or the auld or the bauld or the youth, 
For whatever they play by nicht or by day 

The chanter is set for the truth. 

I've wandered awa' frae my hame 

An' I've met wi' the bricht an' the braw, 
But woman or man or country or clan 

The Scots are the pride o' them a'; 
I wonder I wandered awa', 

For I 'm never mysel ' till I see 
A douce honest face o ' the auld kindly race, 

An' a tongue that's like music to me. 



198 THE CALL OF THE WAR PIPE. 

An' pipers an' drummers an' a', 

An' ribbons an' banners fii* braw; 
An' I'm blythe an' I'm proud in the heart o* a crowd 

When the kilties come on in a raw, 
An' I gie them the double hurrah 

An' lang may they gie us a blaw, 
For there's something worth while in spirit an* style 

Wi' the pipers in front o' them a'! 



SCOTLAND IN THE WAR 

WE hear of England's matchless might, 
But let not Scotland's fame be hid — 
Of those who battle for the right 
We ask— "Stands Scotland where it did?" 
The truth comes as a lightning flash, 

And all the vision stands revealed, — 
Amid the battle's thunder crash 

None brighter gleams than Scotland's Shield. 

In Flanders' fields, by Marne's red banks, 

Where'er the eager eye may turn, 
There charge the Caledonian ranks, 

There shine the spears of Bannockburn ! 
There, crimson-dyed, the tartans wave, 

And there the Highland war-pipe calls, 
There floats the Scottish banner brave, 

And there the stricken f oeman falls I 

Let Fame's green garland deck the brows 

Of all who drew the vengeful sword, 
Nor Envy's tongue dark thoughts arouse 

Who hardest struck the Hun abhorred. 
All honor to each noble race 

That bravely shared the common lot, 
Nor time, nor fate, nor chance, nor place 

Can rob one laurel from the Scot ! 
199 



HERE'S TO THE HIGHLANDS 

HERE'S to the Highlands, the glens and the 
islands, 
That sparkle like gems on an emerald sea; 
An' here's to the heather, the bonnet an' feather. 

The badge o' the noble, the crest o' the free! 
Nae foeman whatever, no, never an' never, 

But shrank f rae the onset, right willing to flee ; 
The pathway to glory in Britain's proud story 
'Is led by the clansman on land or on sea. 

The fierce Huns they mustered, in millions they clus- 
tered, 

Like hungry wolves loose in the fair fields o' France, 
But the lads in the tartans stood firm as the Spartans 

And stopped the wild tide of the savage advance. 
Till, broken an' battered, an' stricken an' shattered, 

The Huns, like the foxes, crept into their dens, 
Till, blasted asunder by earth-rending thunder, 

They crawl awa' back frae the lads frae the glens. 

Then here's to the Highlands, the glens and the 
islands, 
That send the brave lads to the bold British line; 
Though the battle is bitter, the Scots ' bayonets glitter, 
Like far-flashing lightning they'll shine an' they'll 
shine 
Till the last brutal German, like foul hunted vermin, 
For pity or mercy they'll crave an' they'll whine, 
An' each craven coward, by victory devoured, 
Shall vanish like toads in the mud o* the Rhine. 
200 



WILLIE AN' JEAN 

THE sun blinks bonnie on the links o' Aberdeen, 
Where the foam-fringed sea flashes clearly 
Where Willie walked at e'en wi' his lovely 
lassie Jean, 
An* they lo'ed ane anither unco dearly. 

The moon glowers grewsome on the furrowed fields o' 
France, 

Where the hungry hounds o' war never weary, 
An' Willie 'mong the brave lies in a hero's grave 

Far awa' frae his ain bonnie dearie. 

The stars glint gloomy on the green kirkyaird, 

Where the blue bells their teardrops are dreepin', 

An' Jeanie, sweet an' fair, like a withered lily there, 
In the cauld airms o' death lies sleepin'. 

The wee crusie glimmers in the ben house at hame, 
Where the auld fowk are hearing the story 

0' Him that bides aboon, where they'll a' foregaither 
soon 
In the realms o' everlastin' glory. 

What were sun an' moon or the stars that blink aboon 

Or the crusie that glimmers dim an ' drearer, 
If it were na through life's nicht we can see the licht 
o' licht 
That's aye shining, nearer an' clearer? 
201 



IN MEMORIAM 
K. K. 

HE, charging in the shot-rent ranks 
Fell nobly on the battle plain 
Where Iser by its shattered banks 
Rolls to the distant main. 

But in my grief a kindly grace 

Reveals this everlasting truth — 
He, changeless, dwells in form and face 

In an immortal youth ! 

His fame is fixed — he lives in light, 
His is the watching world's applause, 

For in the battle for the right, 
He fell in Freedom's cause. 

Where calm he lies the glad, green spring 
Shall deck with flower and wreathe with vine, 

For him the nightingale shall sing 
A sweeter song than mine. 

The stars shall nightly vigils keep, 

The moon her silver glory shed, 
And rainbow blossoms freshly weep 

Upon his lowly bed. 

But not in vain he fell ; for, though 
Through furnace fires of sorrow, we 

Behold in Hope's eternal glow 
The triumph that shall be ! 
202 



OVER THE TOP WITH TOMMY 

OVER the top with Tommy,— 
That 's where I would be, 
I would take care of Tommy 
And Tommy take care of me. 
High on the flag of honor 

Place a bright blue star — 

Tommy has joined the army, 

Tommy's away to the war! 

Over the top with Tommy, 

On through the tangled wires, 
Into the blaze of the bursting bombs, 

Into the flashing fires ; 
Out of the wide-mouthed trench, 

Over the shell-hole's lip ; 
Into the foeman's straining arms 

With a collar and elbow grip. 

If we should fall together — 

Whatever the fates decree, 
Others would fall with Tommy, 

And some would fall with me. 
Down in the land of darkness, 

Or up in realms of light ; 
Into new spheres of the endless years, 

Or into the quenching night, 
203 



204 OVER THE TOP WITH TOMMY. 

I'll take my chance with Tommy 

On through disasters dire, 
And stay with him through the ages dim 

At rest or lower or higher ; 
But chance has rent us apart 

'Neath fortune's varying star; 
And such is fate — I stand and wait 

And Tommy's away to the war! 

Youth is the golden sunshine, 

Age is the twilight dim : 
I wish that Tommy could change with me 

And I could change with him. 
Or add our years together 

And break them up in two — 
Then march away to the martial fray 

Wherever the bugles blew ! 



IN MEMORIAM 
R. B. K. 

THE bugles blow, a martial joy 
Thrills freemen mustering with the 
brave, 
But he, my pride, my gallant boy, 
Lies in a soldier's grave. 

I leave the city's busy hum, 

I seek the silent solitudes, 
And kindred voices bid me come 

For healing in the woods. 

I hear him in the wild bird 's song, 

I see him in each quivering tree, 
Though, shadow-like, he haunts me long 

He may not speak to me. 

His kind face comes to me by night, 

He, seraph-like, serenely stands, 
I see him robed in stainless white 

And healing in his hands. 

He heeds me not, he waxes dim, 

His love seems turned to cold neglect, 

Like one whose merit raises him 
By godlike intellect. 

But through my weary heart to-day 

This blessed truth comes strongly driven — 
205 



206 



IN MEMORIAM, R. B. K. 

God never takes one gift away 
But something more is given. 

My other loved ones dearer seem, 

Old friends come round me more and more, 
And kind, as in a happy dream, 

Come souls unknown before. 

As in my sheltered garden grew 
A sapling oak, and broad and bold 

It spread its leaves of shining hue 
In glistening green and gold. 

I dreamed that 'neath its ampler shade, 
Through waning years that were to be, 

A calm retreat there might be made — 
A resting place for me. 

It withered, but around that spot 

The sun-flowers burn, the dahlias bloom, 

There springs the sweet forget-me-not, 
And roses shed perfume. 

The warbling songbirds ever seem 

A happy choir of pure delight, 
By day the wild bees hum, the gleam 

Of fireflies gems the night. 

The weary winds are lulled, and there 
The balmy air is sweet and mild, 

A peace is in the earth and air, 
And I am reconciled. 



IN PICARDY 

WE'VE warsled through the winter wi* its 
weary wreaths o' snaw, 
An' we wiss'd the breath o' spring were here 
to drive the frost awa'; 
But the buds are on the bush again an' a better chance 

we'll get 
To meet the Hun on level grun' — we're aye fechtin 

yel 
Thro' mud an' mire an* frost an' fire we're aye fechtin 
yet. 

There's brave lads fa'n in battle, and mony mair may 

dee 
Whaur the cannon roar an' rattle on the road to Ger- 

manie ; 
But our faith it hasna falter 'd for a' the dool we've 

met, 
An' our courage hasna alter 'd, for we're aye fechtin 

yet. 
In hearty hope that canna stop we're aye fechtin yet. 

You should see the bricht een glancin' when they let 

us oot at lairge, 
An' the pipers set us dancin' in the whirlwind o' the 

chairge ! 

207 



208 IN PI CARD Y. 

An' the fire o' vengeance shinin' on each burnish 'd 

bayonet, 
An' the tremblin' Bosches whinin , , for we're aye 

fechtin yet; 
there's glory in the story! — we're aye fechtin yet. 

So Hope keeps brichtly burnin' on the plains o* 

Picardie, 
An' wi' joy we'll be returnin' 'neath the flags o' vic- 

torie; 
An' Freedom's sun shines clearer an' never more shall 

set, 
An' man to man be nearer, for we're aye fechtin yet. 
For truth an' licht an' human richt we're aye fechtin 

yet. 



THE ARMISTICE 

INE kings fell from their tottering thrones, 
Their swords were red but not with rust, 
Nine million soldiers ' mouldering bones 
Lay hidden low in the silent dust. 



N 



Nine ropes swung loose in November's breeze, 
Each noozed and ready to stretch a neck; 

Nine ravens sat on the leafless trees 
Keen whetting their horny nebs to peck. 

A white cross stood 'neath a glittering star 

Where the new-made graves spread row on row, 

And the shell-rent, shot-ploughed fields afar 
Lay dim in the drifts of trampled snow. 

A still voice came from the upper air: — 
"The weary earth is ready for peace, 

The hour has come for the sword to spare, 
For the day has come for the strife to cease. 

"The brave live on in an endless fame 
And sweet is the rest of the noble dead ; 

The craven lives in a cloud of shame 
And pines in the pangs of a gnawing dread. 
209 



210 THE ARMISTICE. 

"How long will the hands that were meant for toil 

Make idols of clay whose heavy feet 
But press man down in the miry soil 

As the hoof -beats tread on the hardened street? 

"Cease ye from war and look in His face 
Who, stranger-like, ye have not known, 

He who made you rich in His Grace — 
Yon are His children, you are His own. 

"Leave these fallen creatures to Him, 

Judgment is His, He knowest best, 
In the golden dawn through the shadows dim 

The morning cometh, there is rest." 



THE TRIUMPH 

THE humbled Hun has bent the knee 
In abject supplications, 
And Victory's wings o'er land and sea 
Enfold the allied nations ; 
While Peace proclaims full loud and free 

Her sweetest salutations, 
And music's warbled melody; 
Prolongs the acclamations. 

Who boastful comes in shame shall go, 

In vain the rash endeavor, 
Though pampered pride and gilded show 

The bonds of peace may sever; 
The wise and good serenely know 

Vain pomp endureth never; 
The moving mills of God grind slow 

But they grind on forever. 

Who rules the earth from pole to pole 

With Truth as vindicator? 
Who makes the right to bear control 

As Freedom's promulgator? 
Who makes it clear no human soul 

But stoops a violator? 
Who other than His powers extol 

But He the wise Creator? 
211 



212 THE TRIUMPH. 

His right hand smote the erring Huns, 

He mocked their boastful lying ; 
He hushed the thunder of their guns 

The oath-bound right defying; 
His eye beheld the stricken ones, 

He heard Earth's woeful sighing; 
His mantling pity never shuns 

The hallowed heroes dying. 

Be this our hope in brighter days 

In Fate's unwritten pages, — 
We higher climb on wisdom's ways 

By His uplifting stages, 
Till underneath the clearer rays 

No jarring tumult rages, 
But Peace shall sing her song of praise 

Throughout the endless ages. 

As comes the ship with broken masts 

For which fond hearts were mourning; 
As passed wild Winter's stormy blasts 

Comes primrosed Spring returning ; 
As through the clouds that overcast 

The golden sun comes burning, — 
So comes the white-robed Peace that lasts 

For which we've long been yearning! 



LATER LYRICAL CHARACTER SKETCHES 
PIPER MacPHEE 

MAC PHEE plays the bagpipe as clear as ai 
mavis 
That wakes the sweet echoes the woodlands 
amang ; 
It seems that his spirit gaes back to Ben Nevis 

Where his wild- warbling war-pipe melodiously rang. 
His mind aye engages the airs o' the ages, — 

The martial, the waesome, the blythe blasts o' glee; 
'T would be grand to gang roamin' at hame i' the 
gloamin ' 
An ? list to the numbers o' Donald MacPhee. 

But here owre the sea in a far, foreign country 

Wi' Slovaks an' Huns an' lang- whiskered Kykes, — 
Offscourings o' Europe, — a down-trodden gentry, — 

Ye might as weel mingle wi' wasps in their bykes. 
The black-hearted vipers hae nae ear for pipers, 

There's a scowl on the face an' a fire in the ee; 
TheyVe nae sense to hearken, their dull dials darken 

At the soul-stirring music o* Donald MacPhee. 

He played on the roofs an' he played in t|ie back 
yards, 
He played in the cellars sae darksome an' damp. 
He was jeered at an* laughed at by ill-spoken black- 
guards, 
An* treated far waur than some ne'er-do-weel 
tramp, 

213 



214 PIPER MAC PHEE. 

The fowk keepit lodgers an' fiercely as sodgers 
They swore at his pipes; but fu' patient was he, 

An' sought for seclusion where nae rude intrusion 
Would mar the grand piping o' Donald MacPhee. 

Ae day in the springtime I wandered out wi* him, 

Awa' where the forest spread shady an' green, 
To hae a day's piping, — 't was rapture to see him, — 

The high-minded minstrel alone an' serene; 
But, sadness to say it, as ill luck would hae it, 

The birds an' the beasties made ready to flee, 
An' din-making neibors roused up the game-keepers 

Wha swore out a summons for Donald MacPhee. 

But ae cheery gloamin' a keen, clever showman 

Made offers to Donald if Donald would come ; 
A big-bearded lady, — he had her already, — 

A dwarf an' a giant that beat on a drum, — 
A Hindoo in curtains wha* tauld fowk their fortunes, 

An' ither queer ferlies fu' unco to see; 
But the hale segregation made sma' agitation 

Compared to the piping o' Donald MacPhee. 

At market or fair aye the piper was there aye 
When dawn's rosy streamers illumined his face 

Till the stars they were gleaming his chanter was 
screaming, 
Nae sentry mair faithfu' e'er keepit his place. 

A bite o' a sausage in some gloomy passage 
An' whiles a bit cupfu* o' coffee or teaj 



PIPER MAC PHEE. 215 

His wants they were simple, his funds they were 
ample 
An* grand was the piping o' Donald MacPhee. 

To greet the engagements the f owk thranged in regi- 
ments, 
Through the lang simmer days there was piping 
galore, — 
He cheered up the quorum wi' blythe "Tulloch- 
gorum," 
An r saftened their hearts wi' "Lochaber No More." 
Nae jeering nor curses but weel-opened purses 

An* joy rich in revels an' innocent glee; 
The tunes o' "Prince Charlie," the gay "Rigs o* 
Barley" 
Enchanted the hearers o' Donald MacPhee. 

But, — spirits fraternal,— ae day an auld Colonel 

Wi' his head in the air an' a visage fu' keen 
Came mantled in tartan an' bold as a Spartan, 

He louped like an athlete at play on the green ; 
His een they were star-like, his aspect was war-like, 

His voice a deep basso, an' bauldly says he, — 
"Come, give me a trial, 111 take no denial," 

An' he grippit the bagpipe frae Donald MacPhee. 

Then he hotched an' he jerkit, his elbows he workit, 
Wi' cyclonic fury he blew an' he blew; 

His feet they kept beating, repeating — repeating, — 
The ribbons they twisted, they fluttered, they flew ; 

The notes they kept coming, the drones they were 
humming, 



216 



PIPER MAC PHEE. 



The short anes on E aye, the lang ane on G ; 
The welkin was buzzin' while shakes by the dozen 
Bang true frae the bagpipe o' Donald MacPhee. 

But ending the racket, — the wind-bag it eraekit, 

An' sad as the sough o' a storm-beaten sea, 
A lang eerie moaning, the last waefu' droning, — 

A harsh note o' discord to muffle the glee; 
The bag, like a blether, it shrank in thegither, 

An' then the grand Colonel fu' bauldly spak' he, — 
" Ne'er heed the disaster, take me for your master," — 

An' awa' he gaed linking wi' Donald MacPhee. 

But nae need o' pity, — in country or city, — • 

A big man the Colonel, a rich man an* a*, — 
The noble Clanronald got new pipes for Donald 

Wi' lang ells o' ribbons an* banners fu' braw^ 
An* closing my drama in fair Alabama 

In evergreen gardens o' grandeur to see, 
I'll lay you a wager there's no a pipe-major 

That pipes in the splendor o' Donald MacPhee. 

Now freends within hearing be slow in your jeering, 

When a douce man's in earnest juist let him abee; 
There's hope in persistence an' whiles in the distance 

He'll come to big things like a stream to the sea; 
It needs guts an' girsle fu' lonely to warsle, 

But the bravest aye get to the tap o' the tree. 
Awa' wi' back-turning, keep hope ever burning 

An' think o' the triumphs o' Donald MacPhee. 



SANDY MacQUILL 

SANDY MAC QUILL was an auld f arrant stock, 
And an unco queer hobby had he ; 
His mind was wound up, like a grandfather's 
clock, 
Wi' a speech that he made in Dundee, 
An* for forty lang years he's been at it until 
We've heard the last echoes o' Sandy MacQuill. 

He scanned owre the speeches that ithers had made, 

An' copied baith matter an' style, 
Wi' a start here an' there, — a mock masquerade — 

Unfathomed as Tammas Carlyle; 
But the Scots bodies took it wi' hearty good will, 
An' they voted a medal to Sandy MacQuill. 

An' for year after year he reeled aft 3 his stunt, 

An' to gie it a finer effect 
He had big drooping spectacles flaming in front 

An' lang locks o' hair in his neck, 
When they munched at the haggis or swallowed a gill 
They cappit the climax wi' Sandy MacQuill. 

When the birkie began in club or in clan 

The bauldest were mim as a mouse, 
Till proudly he pictured the Scot as a Man, 

Syne wi' thunders they rockit the house 
Wi' cheer upon cheer an' thrill upon thrill — 
Double roused by the toddy an' Sandy MacQuill. 

217 



218 SANDY MAC QUILJ* 

He rampit an ? reenged like a lion let loose 

An' doubled an' trebled his proof, 
Wi' flashes o' glory round Wallace an' Bruce 

He blazed till lie crackit the roof ; 
Till at Burns an' at Scott — fowk roared wi' a will, — 
"They're grand! — but there's only ae Sandy Mac- 
Quill!" 

But at last the teetotallers carried the day, 

An' then, dark as the brim o* my hat, 
The wee warrach weakened an', waesome to say, 

His skyrockets fizzed an' fell flat, 
For sober an' mindfu' they couldna sit still 
An' heed the auld havers o' Sandy MacQuilL 

An' now like a hen wi ? a cleckin o' ducks 

That 's taen to the water to swim, 
On the brink o' despair he scraighs an' he clucks 

An' there's nane to pay honor to him, 
For it looks as if a' bodie's gotten their fill 
0' the rantin' an' roarin' o' Sandy MacQuill. 

Now f reends bear in mind that the well may gae dry ; 

Ye may lose though you've loaded the dice; 
An' though craft an' though chance you may hit the 
bull's eye, 

It tak's skill to be hitting it twice. 
Keep up to the minute an' dinna stand still 
Or your laurels may wither like Sandy MacQuill. 



THE CHAPLAIN 

JEM TAMSON the smith was a throuither chield, 
A smatterin ' bodie at best ; 
His hands they were mauchtless an* Jem could 
na yield 
An honest day 's wark like the rest, 
Some gied him advice, some gied him an aith, 

Some gied him a volley o ' scorn ; 
Some wondered how e'er sic a creature had breath, 
Or how sic a bodie was born. 

An* Jemmie, poor chap, had a hunted-like look, — 

Like a dog that has wandered f rae hame ; 
An', like mony mair, his trade he mistook — 

An' maybe he wasna to blame; 
An' ainee in a while the creature would smile — 

For flashes o' wisdom had he, 
Like the moon glintin' bricht through a rift in the 
nicht 

An' lightin' the fathomless sea. 

Twa pious auld ladies took pity on Jem, 
An' awa* to the college gaed he, 
219 



220 



THE CHAPLAIN. 



An' a shadow o' grace came owre his bit face 

An' a minister — faith! — he would be, 
A half dizzen sermons he got them by heart 

Though room in 't was little to spare ; 
But he gied them his best in some place in the West — 

Converting the heathen out there. 

When the big war began there wasna a man 

But offered his heart an' his hand; 
The echoes rang true when the bugles they blew 

Frae the east to the west o' the land. 
They sharpened the spear, they offered their gear, 

The breath o' defiance was there, 
Some offered their sons, some offered their guns, 

But Jemmie — he offered a prayer. 

But canny was Jem an' a licht cam to him, 

An ' the maist unexpected bef el, 
For the lad saw a chance to be preaching in France, 

So Jemmie he offered himselM 
They sent him awa' wi' a double hurrah, 

An' aff to the trenches he maks 
Wi* sermons pressed flat in the crown o* his hat 

Forbye a big pouchfu' o' tracts. 

In the thunder o' guns ten miles frae the Huns 
Ye could hear his bit quavering voice ; 

Though the sodgers looked glum they aye keepit 
mum, — 
Sma' reason had they to rejoice. 



THE CHAPLAIN. 221 

The men o' a' creeds aft shakit their heads, 

An' few o' them lingered to pray; 
But to him that will preach or lecture or teach 

You're supposed to hae naething to say. 

Ae day when a shell cam' shrieking an' fell, 

Wi ' a crash through the owre-arching trees, 
Eicht near to the spot where Jemmy had got 

A company down on their knees ; 
Somehow it was odd it didna explode, 

But the maist o' them joukit an' ran; 
An' the fleg that Jem got froze him stiff to the spot 

An' they thought that he stood like a man. 

When Jemmie cam' hame there was fame to his name 

An' sichts that a bodie should see; 
He was nae sae blunt, there was brass to his front, 

Like a dollar store window was he, 
Wi' medals an* stars an' wi' crosses an' bars 

His presence brought thunders o' cheers, 
An' dinners galore our Jemmie had more 

Than an alderman guzzles in years. 

He rode in the park an' he wore a white sark, 

The widows were thrang after Jem ; 
He picked out the best an' he shook a' the rest 

An' a fortune was settled on him. 
The lady had gear an' Jemmie, they swear, 

Is free frae a' warldly strife, 
On foot he ne'er hikes, he can do as he likes — 

For Jemmie is settled for life. 



222 



THE CHAPLAIN. 



Now f reends bear in mind an ' be eouthie an ' kind 

When ye meet wi ' a billie like Jem, 
For there 's angels o ' grace that will find him a place, 

An' your een may be dazzled by him, 
For Fortune, the jaud, aft picks a puir lad 

That blossoms an' ripens fu' big, 
His days may be spent in canny content 

As easy 's an Irishman's pig. 



THE HIGHLAND CROFTER 

FRAE Kenmore to Ben More 
The land is a' the Marquises'; 
The mossy howes, the heathery knowes 
An* ilka bonnie park is his ; 
The bearded goats, the towsie stots 

An' a' the braxie carcasses; 
Ilk crofter's rent, ilk tinkler's tent 

An' ilka collie's bark is his; 
The muircock's craw, the piper's blaw. 
The ghillie's hard day's wark is his, 
Frae Kenmore to Ben More 
The warld is a' the Marquises' ! 

The fish that swim, the birds that skim, 

The fir, the ash, the birk is his; 
The castle ha', sae big an' braw. 

Yon diamond-crusted durk is his; 
The roofless hame, — a burning shame, 

The factor's dirty wark is his; 
The poor fowk vexed, the lawyer's text, 

Yon smirkin' legal shark is his; 
Frae Kenmore to Ben More 

The warld is a' the Marquises' ! 
223 



224 THE HIGHLAND CROFTER. 

But near, mair near, God's voice we hear- 

The dawn as weel's the dark is His. 
The poet's dream, the patriot's theme, 

The fire that lights the mirk is His; 
They clearly show God's mills are slow 

But sure the handiwark is His ; 
And in His grace our hope we place. 

Fair Freedom's sheltering ark is His. 
The men that toil should own the soil — 
, A note as dear's the lark's is this — 
Breadalbane 's land — the fair, the grand — 

Will no ' be aye the Marquises ' ! 



THE MILL LASSIE 

A N would you hire a lassie noo? 
I am a weaver to my trade." 
I could na tak the like o' you," 
The heartless, hard-faced foreman said. 



A: 



"We're snoddin' up the hands we hae 
An' makin' a' thing neat's a preen, 

"We're gaun to hae a visit frae 
Their majesties the king an' queen! 

"Your bare feet would na look sae weel, 
Your claes are unco thin an' bare; 

We want our f owk to look genteel 
An' busk themsels an' kame their ham 

*'In twa's three days or maybe mair 
0' weavers we might hire a few 5 

We daurna lat the royal pair 
Set een upon the like o' you! ,? 

A red flood flushed her pallid face, 
Her weary eyelids filled with tears,-— 

"It's naething but a real disgrace 
To notice what a weaver wears. 

"I hae a pair o' shoon," she said, 

"An' use them when the days are dark, 

Forbye a gown my mither made, 
An' wear it to the Baxter Park. 
225 



226 



THE MILL LASSIE. 

"On Sabbath days too at the kirk 
I'm snod, although I say't mysel; 

I wiss the braw f owk had to work 
An' a' the loafers were in hell! 

"I winder whiles in Pity's name 

How some are bare while some are braw, 

An' wha's to blame, an' whaur's the shame, 
Or if there be a God ava! 

"The Bible says it's really sae, — 
His een are neither bleared nor dim, 

But I would like to gae an' hae 
Juist twa's three canny words wi' Him!" 

Ah, lion-hearted lass, hold up 

Your noble head nor blame in haste, 

For many kings have drank a cup 
Your trembling lips shall never taste. 

And you may walk in rich attire 

When clique and class and caste are gone, 
And God's slow-burning, scorching fire 

May wither every earthly throne! 

Farewell ! Dundee, — but count not me 

A regal family worshipper, 
But yon brave lass I could not pass, 

But raised my Western hat to her. 



THE FARM LAD 

I dreamed I was a lad again 
On Angus' breezy braes 
An' heard the foreman's rongh refrain- 
"Ho lads! Get on your claes 
An', laddie, gang an' muck the byre 

An' feed the cattle weel, 
Then hack the sticks an' licht the fire 
An' get your milk an' meal. 

"Syne to the neeps an' pou an' slash 

Twa load ere ye come back. 
Then to the barn, for we maun thrash 

Anither barley stack. 
Then you maun mak the fanners fly 

Till a' the dichtin's dune, 
Your hardest wark should aye be by 

Before the afternoon. 

"At dinner time ye winna girn 

To help the lasses through, 
To feed the swine an' ca' the kirn 

Is exercise for you. 
Then yoke the cart an' to the toun 

An' walk you brisk an' smart; 
It isna ilka halflin loun 

That drives a tattie cart. 
227 



228 



THE FARM LAD. 

"When at the toun ye '11 rub her doun, 

An' gie the brute her due, 
Although she kicks she seldom strikes 

A souple loun like you. 
Then feed the kye an' clean the croo, 

An' gie the hens their crumbs, 
An' dinna leave a lot to do 

Before the gloamin' comes. ' r 

I waukent but the meaning plain 

In fancy seemed to be 
Our lives but catch the same refrain 

The foreman gied to me. 
For aye the mair that maist fowk do 

The mair there's to be dune; 
Ye 're weel aff if yonr wark be through 

Before the afternoon. 

Haud at it in the morning hour, 

Keep at it a' the day, 
Haud at it, be it ne'er sae dour, 

For Life's nae bairnies' play. 
Keep at it, be it fair or sour, 

An' ye may pick Life's plums 
An' maybe hae a golden hour 

Before the gloamin' comes. 



THE PLOUGHMAN 

I used to think the ploughman's days 
Were dark an' dull an' unco teuch, 
An' wealth lived in a gowden blaze 
Wi' pleasures braw an' blythe aneuch, 
I've lived to keep a calmer sough, 
I 've learned a truer, sweeter tune, — 

Joy brightly lightens life's dull heuch 
To ploughmen when their day's wark's dune. 

blythe to them the birdies sing, 

An' grand to them 's the spangled sheen, 
When dewy blossoms in the Spring 

Adorn the earth in gold and green ; 

The daisied fields, the skies serene, 
Bring balmy breath like happy June — 

Contentment crowns nae happier scene 
Than ploughmen's when their day's wark's dune I 

We used to mak' the caber dance, 

We used to putt the muckle stane, 
We used to gar the hammers glance, 

Like rockets, owre the velvet green — 

Big, brawny athletes ilka ane, 
229 



230 THE PLOUGHMAN. 

An' dancers wi' the pipes in tune; 

There's pleasures owre an* owre again 
Wi' ploughmen when their day's wark's dune. 

My hameowre tongue is warsh and weak, 

My foreign Muse is tired an' tame, 
I could sing for Scotland's sake 

If I had only lived at hame ! 

Her memories haunt me like a dream 
0' fairyland beneath the mune, 

An' aye the brightest, sweetest theme 
Is ploughmen when their day's wark's dune! 

I've wander 'd east, I've wander 'd wast, 

I 've crossed the wide Atlantic sea. 
Youth's bonnie, blythesome days are past 

An' age comes hirplin' owre the lea. 

Whatever else may come to me, 
Be this Life's canny closing croon — 

Sweet may my hinmost slumbers be 
Like ploughmen's when their day's wark's dune! 



NOTES. 

Pagb 9. 

In 1861, at the outbreak of the American Civil War, the 
79th Highlanders, headquarters in New York City, consisted 
of about 300 men, divided into six companies, and attached to 
the New York State Militia. The Highland uniform, or kilt, 
was worn. The undress, or fatigue, uniform consisted of 
caps, blue jackets and Cameron tartan trousers. Their 
services were among the first offered to the government, and 
on May 13th the formal acceptance was made. Early in June, 
the regiment, recruited to nearly 900, proceeded to Washington. 
From such reports as are in the office of the Adjutant-General 
at Albany, it appears that there were enrolled in the regiment, 
from May, 1861, to May, 1864, 1,374 men. 

Of these, there were killed in battle or died of wounds or 
disease, 190; discharged, by reason of disability caused by 
wounds or sickness and other causes, 747 ; mustered out May, 
1864, 244; transferred, resigned, and dismissed previous to 
May, 1864, 76 ; term of enlistment not completed, 117 ; total 
1,374. 

The second period of the regiment's service during the 
Civil War dates from June, 1864, to July, 1865, during which 
period 609 men were attached to the regiment. Though par- 
ticipating in the Siege of Petersburg and the final assault on 
the Confederate works there, the casualties were slight. The 
final mustering out of the service of the government occurred 
on July 14, 1865. 

The regiment participated in the following engagements : 
1861.— July 18, Blackburn's Ford, Virginia. 
July 21, Bull Run, Virginia. 
September 11, Lewinsville, Virginia. 
September 25, Lewinsville, Virginia. 
231 



232 NOTES. 

1862.— January 1, Port Royal Ferry, South Carolina. 

May 28, Pocataligo, South Carolina. 

June 3-4, James Island, South Carolina. 

June 16, Secessionville, South Carolina. 

August 21, Kelly's Ford, Virginia. 

August 29-30, Second Bull Run, Virginia 

September 1, Chantilly, Virginia. 

September 14, South Mountain, Maryland. 

September 17, Antietam, Maryland. 
, December 13-14, Fredericksburg, Virginia. 

1863. — June- July 4, Vicksburg, Mississippi. 

July 10-17, Jackson, Mississippi. 

October 10, Blue Springs, Tennessee. 

November 16, Campbell's Station, Tennessee. 

November 17-December 5, Siege of Knoxville, Ten- 
nessee. 

November 29, Defense of Fort Sanders, Tennessee. 
1864. — January 21, Strawberry Plains, Tennessee. 

January 22, Between Strawberry Plains and Knoxville, 
Tennessee. 

May 6-7, Wilderness, Virginia. 

May 9-13, Spottsylvania, Virginia. 

October 27, Hatcher's Run, Virginia. 
1865. — March 25, Fort Stedman. Virginia. 

April 2, Final assault on Petersburg, Virginia. 

Page 14. 

The march over the Cumberland Mountains occurred in 
September, 1863. The division of the Union Army consisted 
of the 79th New York (Highlanders), 8th and 27th Michigan, 
35th and 36th Massachusetts, 11th New Hampshire, 51st New 
York, 45th Pennsylvania, and Benjamin's Battery, United 
States Artillery. The division formed a part of the Ninth 
Army Corps, commanded by General Burnside. Brigadier- 
General David Morrison, Colonel 79th New York (High- 
landers), commanded the brigade to which the Highlanders 
were attached. 



NOTES. 233 

Page 19. 

The campaign in Eastern Tennessee began on September 
21, 1863. The first encounter with the Confederate forces 
occurred at Blue Springs on October 10th, which resulted in 
completely routing the rebels. The Union Division moved 
southward and took up winter quarters at Lenoir. The Con- 
federates advanced from the South in great force and the 
Union division withdrew to Knoxville. A sharp engagement 
occurred at Campbell's Station on November 16th, when the 
Highlanders successfully held in check the Confederate 
cavalry. 

Page 24. 

The Siege of Knoxville began on November 17th. The 
principal defensive work was a fort half a mile west of the 
city The defenders s of this chief work were Benjamin's Bat- 
tery, Company E, 2d United States Artillery, part of 
Buckley's and Romer's Batteries, Volunteer Artillery and 2d 
Michigan Infantry on the flank. Two companies of the 29th 
Massachusetts Infantry and the 79th New York (Highlanders) 
were stationed in the Northwest bastion of the fort. The 
cannonade from the Confederate artillery, chiefly aimed at 
the ffort, was continued almost incessantly from November 
18th till November 28th. 

Page 29. 

The final assault on the defenses of Knoxville occurred on 
Sunday morning, November 29, 1863. General Longstreet's 
entire division, numbering over 8,000 men, was sent against 
the main bastion of Fort Sanders, where the Highlanders were 
stationed. The repulse of the Confederates was complete, 
with a total loss of 129 men killed, 458 wounded and 226 
prisoners. Three battle-flags were captured by the High- 
landers. In referring to the assault on Fort Sanders, the 
Southern historian, Pollard, in his "Third Year of the War," 
says : "In this terrible ditch the dead were piled eight or ten 
deep. Never, excepting at Gettysburg, was there in the 
history of the war a disaster adorned with the glory of such 
devout courage as Longstreet's repulse at Knoxville." 



234 NOTES. 

Page 40. 
Albyn, an ancient name applied to Caledonia, used by 
Campbell in " Gertrude of Wyoming. " 

Page 44. 

Noran Water rises among the Grampian Hills in the north 
of Forfarshire, flows south and east through that county 
about 20 miles, and joins the South Esk near the ancient burgh 
of Brechin. 

Page 52. 

Angus Eankin was Pipe-Major of the 79th Regiment 
(Highlanders) National Guard, State of New York, when the 
regiment was mustered out of the service of the State in 1876. 
He died in 1880. 

Page 59. 

Robert Buchanan, the well-known British poet and 
most genial and variously gifted man, visited America in 

1884-85. 

Page 62. 

James Fleming, the celebrated Scottish athlete, was born at 
Tullymet, Perthshire, in 1840, and died at Melbourne, Australia, 
in 1887. For more than twenty years he was a competitor at 
the principal athletic gatherings in Scotland, and some of his 
perf ormances have not been surpassed by any other athlete. 
He visited America in 1871 and was received with much 
popular favor. The following are the records made by him 
in some of the games : At Blair Castle Grounds, Blair Athole, 
in 1869, he put the 22 lb. stone backward and forward 38 feet, 
7 inches ; at Glenisla Gathering he put the 28 lb. stone 33 
feet, 8 inches ; at Stonehaven, in 1874, he put the 16 lb. stone 
46 feet, 6 inches; at Tullymet, in 1877, he threw the 16 lb. 
hammer, standing at the mark, 125 feet, 8 inches; at Stone- 
haven, in 1876, he threw 56 lb. by the ring, standing at the 
mark, 26 feet 8 inches. He also won many prizes at running 
and leaping and was one of the best all- around athletes of 
which there is any authentic record. 



NOTES. 235 

Page 71. 

One morning during the sojourn of the Highlanders at Port 
Royal Ferry, South Carolina, a number of negro refugees pre- 
sented themselves at the end of the causeway, on the opposite 
side of the Coosaw River, and by signs indicated their desire 
to be brought over. Lieutenant Dingwall and a few others of 
the Highlanders jumped into a boat, captured only a few days 
before from the enemy's side, and rowed across the three hun- 
dred feet of rapid current. Thirteen negroes were found, 
men, women, and children. As the boat was about to push 
off the enemy discovered what was going on, and the guard 
sounded a general alarm. The Union side was equally alert, 
and the refugees were safely landed on the side of freedom. 
The gratitude of the negroes was unbounded. This incident 
occurred nearly a year before President Lincoln's Proclamation 
of Emancipation. 

Page 77. 

The incident related in the verses occurred as described. 
The assault on the Confederate works at Secessionville, James 
Island, was made by General Stevens' division, consisting of 
the 8th Michigan, 7th Connecticut, 28th Massachusetts, 48th 
New York, 79th (Highlanders) New York, and the 100th 
Pennsylvania regiments. The division advanced during the 
night in the order named. The 8th Michigan and the 79th 
New York reached the works and took possession of the bat- 
teries, but were recalled on account of the other regiments 
failing to advance to their support. The two brothers referred 
to, William and Robert Tofts, were members of the 79th. One 
was killed during the battle ; the other, returning to look for 
his brother's body, was also killed. 

The Charleston Mercury, in its account of the battle, refer- 
ring to the Highlanders, used this language : "It was left to the 
valiant Paladins of the North, to the brave 79th Highlanders, 
to test the virtue of unadulterated cold steel on our Southern 
nerves; but they terribly mistook their foe, for they were 
rolled back in a tide of blood. Thank God ! Lincoln has, or 
had, only one 79th regiment, for there is only a remnant left 
to tell the tale. 



236 NOTES. 

"The soldiers who can make such a charge, and those who 
can stand it, their conditions being equal, are the parties 
to win a war." 

The total loss of the Highlanders in this engagement, in 
killed and wounded, was 110, about one-fourth of the 
strength of the regiment at that time. 

Page 85. 

James Clement Moffat was a native of Gallowayshire, 
Scotland, where he was born on May 30, 1811. From his 
tenth to his sixteenth year he was a shepherd on the hills 
of Galloway. He learned the printer's trade in Edinburgh, 
and emigrated to America in 1832. Principal Maclean, of 
Princeton, induced him to enter the Princeton College, 
where he graduated in 1835. For over fifty years he was 
esteemed as one of the most eminent scholars and teachers 
in that institution. In 1888 he was made Professor Eme- 
ritus. He was a gifted and prolific writer. He died at 
Princeton, New Jersey, June 7, 1890. 



GLOSSARY. 



The a in Scottish words, except when forming a dipthhong, 
or followed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds like 
the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthongs ia, ei, and 
ie sounds like ee in English ; ch and gh final in Scottish words 
have always the guttural sound as in the German ; d and g 
final after n are never sounded. The French u, a sound 
which often occurs in the Scottish language, is generally 
written oo or ui. The English sound of oo is marked ou in 
Scottish. The Scottish diphthong a e, always sounds like the 
French e acute . 

A An', and. 

Ance, once. 

A', all. Ane, one 

Aboon, above. Aneuch, enough. 

Ae, one. Antrin, occasional. 

Aff, off. Auld, old. 

Afore, before. Auld-farrant, old-fashioned. 

Aft, often. Ava, at all. 

Ahint, behind. Awa', away. 

Ain, own. Awesome, frightful. 
Aith, oath. 
Air, early. 
Airt, direction, point of the Ba', ball. 

compass. Bairns, children. 

Amang, among. Baith, both. 

Amaist, almost. Ballant, ballad. 

237 



238 



GLOSSARY. 



Banes, bones. 

Bannock, a flat, round cake. 

Bannin, swearing. 

Bauchles, old shoes. 

Bauks, beams. 

Bauld, bold. 

Bawbee, half -penny. 

Ben, the spence, or parlor. 

B ether al, a church officer or 

sexton. 
Beuk, book. 
Bickerin, running. 
Bide, wait. 
Billie, fellow. 
Birdie, diminutive of bird. 
Birselt, broiled. 
Bittie, a small bit. 
Bizzin, buzzing. 
Blate, bashful. 

Blatter, to start off suddenly. 
Blaw, to blow. 
Blether, to talk idly. 
Blink, to shine by fits. 
Blobs, blisters. 
Bluid, blood. 
Bodie, a person. 
Bogle, a spectre. 
Bonnie, beautiful, handsome. 
Bonnilie, beautifully. 
Brae, slope of a hill. 
Braid, broad. 
Br aw, fine, gayly dressed. 
Brawly, finely, heartily. 
Brither, brother. 
Brods, boards. 
Buckie, a sea shell, a refractory 

person, 



Buller, a loud noise. 
Buirdly, stout, broad built. 
Bumbees, wild bees. 
Burnie, a streamlet. 
Busk, to dress. 
Byke, a nest or habitation. 
Bykit, hived or gathered to- 
gether. 



Ca', call. 

Caber, a young tree after be- 
ing cut down. 
Caller, fresh. 
Cam', came. 
Cankert, ill-tempered. 
Canna, cannot. 
Cannie, gentle, dexterous. 
Cantrip, a trick, a spell. 
Canty, lively, cheerful. 
Carl, an old man . 
Catwittit, hairbrained. 
Cauf-love, first love. 
Cauld, cold. 

Cauldrife, susceptible to cold. 
Chafts, the jaws. 
Chiel, a young man. 
Chirkit, grinding the teeth. 
Chow, to chew. 
Chuckie, a hen. 
Claes, clothes. 
Clash, idle talk. 
Cleeds, to clothe. 
Cleckin, a brood of birds. 
Clinkit, denoting alertness. 
Clocking, hatching. 
Cloitet, to fall or sit down. 



GLOSSARY. 



239 



Cog, a wooden dish. 

Coof, a blockhead. 

Couthy, kind, loving. 

Cowpit, tumbled. 

Crack, conversation. 

Craig, the throat. 

Craw, to crow. 

Creeshie, greasy. 

Crokonition, destruction. 

Cronach, a mournful song. 

Croon, to sing. 

Crouse, cheerful, courageous. 

Cruds, curds. 

Crusie, a lamp. 



Dacklin, sticking. 
Daffln, merry. 
Daft, giddy, foolish. 
Daunder, to wander. 
Daur, to dare. 
Daurna, dare not. 
Dawted, fondled, caressed. 
Dearie, a sweetheart. 
Deave, to annoy. 
Dee, to die. 
Deil, the devil. 
Ding, to overcome. 
Dinna, do not. 
Dirl, a vibration. 
Doilt, a stupid person. 
Doitet, confused. 
Dominie, a schoolmaster. 
Dool, sorrow. 
Doos, doves. 
Dosent, stupid. 
Douce, sober, prudent. 



Doun, down. 
Dour, stubborn. 
Dowff, melancholy. 
Dowie, sad. 

Drammack, meal and water. 
Drap, drop. 

Dree, to suspect, to endure. 
Dreich, tedious, lingering. 
Dreep, drippings. 
Droukit, drenched. 
Drouth, thirst, draught. 
Drucken, drunken. 
Drumlie, muddy, troubled. 
Dub, a standing pool 
Duds, rags, clothes. 
Dumfounded, astonished. 
Dune, done. 
Duntin, beating. 

E 

Ee or e'e, the eye. 
Een, the eyes. 

Eerie, haunted, dreading 
spirits 



Fa', fall. 
Fae, foe. 
Fash, trouble. 
Fashious, troublesome. 
Fecht, fight. 
Feckless, useless. 
Feckly, mostly. 
Fegs, an exclamation of sur- 
prise. 
Fient, never. 
Fit, foot. 



240 



GLOSSARY. 



Flaffer, flutter 

Fee, fly, 

Fleg, to frighten. 

Flit , to change, to remove. 

Flypin, hanging loosely. 

Forbye, besides. 

Forfouchten, fatigued. 

Fu', or fou, full, drunk. 

Fusion, power. 

Fusionless, powerless. 

Fyke, trifling cares. 

G 

Gae, to go. 

Galore, plenty. 

Gaed, went. 

Gane, gone. 

Gaun, going. 

Gangrel, a wandering person. 

Gar, to compel. 

Gate, way, manner, road. 

Gaunt, to yawn, to long for. 

Gawkie, a thoughtless person. 

Gear, riches, goods. 

Ghaist, a ghost. 

Gie, to give. 

Gied, given. 

Gin, if. 

Girnin, grinning, fault-finding 

Glaiket, inattentive, foolish. 

Glint, a glance, a transient 

gleam. 
Gloamin, evening. 
Glower, to stare. 
Glunch, to frown. 
Gowd, gold. 
Gowk, term of contempt, the 

cuckoo. 



Graith, accoutrements. 
Grane, to groan. 
Grat, to weep, to shed tears. 
Grip, to take hold of. 
Gruesome, loathsome, grim. 
Guffaw, burst of laughter. 
Gude, the Supreme BeiDg. 
Child, good. 

Guidman, husband or head of 
a family. 

H 

Ha', hall. 

Hae, have. 

Haen, had. 

Haena, have not. 

Haggis, a kind of a pudding 

boiled in the stomach of a 

sheep. 
Hale, whole. 
Halesome, wholesome. 
Hallan, a partition in a house. 
Hame, home. 

Hameowre, rustic, homely. 
Hankit, tightened. 
Hap, to cover. 
Harigalds, heart, liver and 

lights of an animal. 
Harl, to drag roughly. 
Haud, to hold. 

Haudin, holding or habitation. 
Haverel, foolish person. 
Haugh, low-lying land. 
HerseV, herself. 
Het, hot. 

Heeze, to raise up. 
Heigh, high. 



GLOSSARY. 



241 



Hirplin, creeping, walking 

crazily. 
Hizzie, a young woman. 
Howe, a hollow or dale. 
Howff, rendezvous. 
Hunkers, haunches. 
Hurdles, the buttocks. 
Hurklin, drawing the body 

together. 



.T, in. 
Bk, each. 
Ilka, every. 
Ither, other. 
Ingans, onions. 
It lane, alone. 
ItseV, itself. 



Jaud, a giddy young woman. 

Jaw, rush or splash of water. 

Jeel, jelly. 

Jockie-blindly, blin&m&n's buff. 

JoyfW, joyful. 

Jimpy, small. 



Kail], colewort, a kind of broth. 
Kaimed, combed. 
Ken, to know. 
Kent, known, knew. 
Kimmer, a young woman. 
Kintra, country. 
Kittle, difficult, ticklish. 
Kittled, tickled. 
Kittlin, kitten, 



Kirnin, searching. 
Kowes, broom. 
Kye, cows. 
Kythe, to be manifest. 



Laddie, diminutive of lad. 

Laigh, low. 

Laird, a land owner. 

Laith, loath. 

Lang, long. 

Lang-nebbit, long-beaked. 

Langsome, wearisome. 

Langsyne, long since. 

Lap, to leap. 

Lassie, diminutive of lass. 

Lave, the rest, the others. 

Lear, learning. 

Laverock, the skylark. 

Lee-lang, live long. 

Leeze, a phrase of congratula- 
tion. 

Leal, loyal, true, faithful. 

Lift, sky, firmament. 

Lightsome, gladsome, cheerful. 

Lilts, cheerful songs. 

Linn, a cataract. 

Lintie, the linnet. 

Loe, love. 

Loof, the open hand. 

Loot, let. 

Loun, a young fellow. 

Loupin, leaping. 

Loupit, leaped. 

Lowse, to unloose. 

Luckie, a designation given to 
an elderly woman. 



242 



GLOSSARY, 



Lugs, ears. 

Lum, the chimney. 

M 
Mair, more. 
Mak, make. 
Mane, moan. 
Mauchtless, helpless. 
Maun, must. 
Maunna, must not. 
Marrows, equals. 
Mirk, dark. 
Mither, mother. 
Mools, earth. 
Mony, many. 
Mou, the mouth. 
Moudywarts, moles. 
Muckle, large, 
Mummlet, muttered. 
Mump, to mince. 
MyseV, myself. 

N 
Na, no, not. 
Nae, no, not any. 
Naething, nothing. 
Nane, none. 
Neb, beak or MIL 
Neuk, corner. 
Nick, applied to the deviL 
Nip, a small quantity. 

O 
0\ of. 

Ony, any. 

Orra, useless, supernumerary. 

Oursels, ourselves. 

Oivre, over. 



Owreby, over at the other side 

P 

Pang, to cram. 

Pawky, cunning. 

Peeh, to breathe hard. 

Peeries, spinning tops. 

Plash, to strike water forcibly. 

Ploy, a frolic. 

Poek, a bag. 

Pouch, a pocket. 

Pow, poll. 

Prick-the-louse, a tailor. 

Preen, a pin. 

Puckle, a small quantity. 

Puddock, a frog. 

Puir, poor. 



Quo', said. 



R 



Rantin, noisy mirth. 
12aa?, to stretch. 
Reek, smoke. 
Rift, to belch. 
Rin, to run. 
Rive, to tear. 
Roose, to praise. 
.Row?, to roll. 
Rowth, plenty. 
Rungs, pieces of wood, 

S 
Sab, sob. 
Sae, so. 
Saft, soft. 
Sair, sore, much. 



GLOSSARY. 



243 



Sairin, serving enough. 

Scarted, scratched. 

Scaith, harm. 

Sclatch, a lubberly fellow. 

Sclutter, a splash as of mud. 

Scowder, to toast hastily. 

Scraigh, scream. 

Sel, self. 

Shaw, a wood. 

Shelf a, the chaffinch. 

Shog, to jog, to shake. 

Shoggled, shaken. 

Shoon, shoes. 

Sic, such. 

Siecan, such as. 

Siccar, secure. 

Siller, silver. 

Sin, since. 

Sin syne, since then. 

Skelpit, to beat with the open 

hand. 
Skelps, pieces, blows. 
Skeugh, to move in a slanting 

direction. 
Skirl, to shriek. 
Skreed, a detached piece. 
Skyte, to slide, to slip. 
Sloeken, to slake, to quench. 
Slack, loose, wrinkled. 
Slee, skillful, dexterous. 
Slowth'd, neglected. 
Sma, small. 
Snaw, snow. 
Sough, a rushing sound. 
Souter, a shoemaker. 
Spak, to speak. 
Spang, to spring. 



Spung, to spring violently. 

Speelin, climbing. 

Speer, to ask, to inquire. 

Spinks, meadow-pinks. 

Splatches, blotches. 

Sprauchle, to scramble. 

Stammack, stomach. 

Stapnit, stopped, filled. 

Steekit, shut. 

Steer, stir. 

Stend, to leap. 

Stieve, firm, compacted. 

Stirk, a steer. 

Stock, one whose limbs are 
stiffened by age. 

Stoups, jugs. 

Stour, dust in motion. 

Straikit, stroked, smoothed. 

Strappin, tall, handsome, vig- 
orous. 

Straught, straight. 

Streikit, stretched. 

Swack, pliant, nimble. 

Swat, sweated. 

Swither, hesitation, wavering. 
i, then. 



Tae, one. 

Taes, toes. 

Tak, take. 

Tattie-dooly, a scarecrow set 

in a potato field. 
Tauld, told. 
Tenf, care, heed. 
Tench, tough. 
Thae, these. 



244 



GLOSSARY. 



Thowe, a thaw. 

Thrangen, thronging. 

Throwither, confused. 

Thrawart, perverse, obstinate. 

Thrawed, twisted. 

Thuddin, striking. 

Til, to. 

Tinkler, a wandering tinkler. 

Tint, lost. 

T^Vr-wwTS,habitual complaints. 

Tither, the other. 

Tod or tod-lowrie, the fox. 

Toom, empty. 

Towsie, dishevelled. 

Trauchle, fatiguing exertion. 

Tryst, engagement. 

Tummle, tumble. 

Tyke, an odd or strange person. 

Twa, two. 

Twalmonth, twelve months. 



U 



Unco, strange. 



Vaig, a vagrant. 
Vera or Verra, very. 
Vow, an interjection expressive 
of surprise. 

W 

Wa\ wall. 
Wad, would. 
Waefu', wofuL 
Waff, a puff. 
Waft, weft. 
Wame, the belly. 
Wanworth, unworthy. 
Warlock, wizard. 



Warsle, wrestle. 

Wastrife, wasting. 

Wat, wet. 

Waublin, unsteady motion 

Wauch, low, immoral. 

Waught, a draught. 

Wauken, awake. 

Waur, worse. 

Wean, child. 

Wee, little, small. 

Weel, well. 

Weel-faur'd, well favored. 

Weel I wat, well I wot. 

Werena, were not. 

Wha, who. 

Whaur, where. 

Whazzlin, wheezing. 

Wheesht, hush. 

Whummle, turn over. 

WV, with. 

Widdie, a rope made of twigs 

Wimplin, meandering. 

Winna, will not. 

Winsome, gay, attractive. 

Wiss, wish. 

Worn awa', passed away. 

Wrang, wrong. 

Wratch, wretch. 

Wyte, blame. 

Y 

Yaird, garden. 
Yeuk, itch. 
Yeukie, itchy. 
Yill, ale. 
Yird, earth. 
Yont, beyond. 
YourseV, yourself. 
Yule, Christmas. 



OPINIONS OF THE AMERICAN PRESS ON 
MR. KENNEDY'S POEMS. 

"His verses have much of the spirit of the Scottish 
Muse at her best." — North American Review. 

"The Robert Burns of America." — New York 
Herald. 

"The most popular poet in this city." — New York 
World. 

"All of his verses are good, and some are of sur- 
passing merit." — Saturday Evening Post. 

"The finest and most original Scottish poet of the 
present day." — New York Home Journal. 

"An original as well as a singularly gifted and ac- 
complished poet. ' ' — Home Magazine. 

"He has invested Scottish poetry with a new in- 
terest, and sings of things he has seen and felt rather 
than through memory only." — Brooklyn Citizen. 

"Mr. Kennedy's verse is melodious. His sense of 
rhythm is faultless." — New York Sun. 

"Masterly poems that will easily endure compari- 
son with work that has made more noise with less 
merit." — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

"Melody and deep feeling are the leading charac- 
teristics of Mr. Kennedy's poems. "— British- Amer- 
ican^ 

"He is without question the most popular writer 
of Scottish verse in the world to-day. Some of his 
work is equal to the best of any Scottish poet of any 
ft ge," — The Caledonian Magazine. 



OPINIONS OF THE SCOTTISH PRESS ON 
MR. KENNEDY'S POEMS 

"He is a true poet and handles the Scotch ad- 
mirably." — Perthshire Advertiser. 

"The pathetic and humorous sides of life are 
treated with equal ability. His songs have all the 
qualities for winning popular favor." — Perthshire 
Constitutional. 

"His versification flows on, smooth and melodious, 
while his style is elastic and his muse versatile. 
With equal facility he describes the grotesque side of 
Scottish character, portrays natural scenery in vivid 
language, sings of the joys and sorrows of human 
life in strains of melting pathos, or provokes bursts 
of laughter with his genuine, pawky humor." — 
Dundee Weekly News. 

"An unexpected treat in varied and flexible meas- 
ure, stirring sentiment, and a command of the Doric 
at once easy and complete." — Dundee Advertiser. 

"His compatriots in the Western States run no 
danger of forgetting their native land while they 
have in their midst a poet so well qualified to sing 
its praises." — Aberdeen Journal. 

"Full of real humor, and written wiith an insight 
into human nature, and a power of catching and fix- 
ing the salient points of character." — Aberdeen Free 
Press. 

"He has his share of the two leading qualities 
of Scottish poetry — humor and pathos." — Elgin 
Courant. 

"Mr. Kennedy is in a high degree gifted with the 
true poetic faculty; and, like all poets, love for his 
fatherland is a distinguishing trait of his character, 
and a favorite fountain at which his muse drinks in- 
spiration. ' ' — Northern Ensign. 

"Excellent descriptive poetry; but it is in the 
humorous Scottish pieces that Mr. Kennedy is at his 
best. ' ' — Orkney Herald. 



OPINIONS OF THE SCOTTISH PRESS ON 
MR. KENNEDY'S POEMS. 

"As the effusions of a Scot abroad, they truly, in 
their exquisite humor, original and rich thought, 
tender pathos and vivid description, remind the Cale- 
donian of his country's Burns and Tannahill. We 
claim the author as Scotland's own, and stamp him at 
once a true exponent of her Doric language and her 
deep, poetic soul. Poems, songs and character 
sketches such as these are not to be met with every 
day. They are scarce indeed." — Border Advertiser. 

"The pieces which we like the best are character 
sketches in the Caledonian Doric, which Mr. Ken- 
nedy employs with classic propriety." — Dumfries 
Standard. 

"The reader cannot fail to be struck with the ele- 
gance of Mr. Kennedy's versification, his command 
of appropriate epithets, and his mastery of the Scot- 
tish dialect. His pieces are eminently original, and 
the tenderness and humor manifested in them will 
commend them to every lover of Scottish poetry." — 
Kelso Chronicle. 

"He is a fine, kindly, pawky chiel, Mr. Kennedy, 
and it is pleasant to hear him sing as if he were sit- 
ting under the gleaming eye of the Scottish lion, and 
not under the voluminous folds of the star-spangled 
banner. ' ' — Glasgow Herald. 

_ "It is exceedingly gratifying to find that the Scot- 
tish Muse has in America so devoted and successful 
a wooer as Mr. Kennedy. He has clearly the real 
stuff in him. All the characteristics of true Scottish 
poetry— simplicity, tenderness, pathos and humor — 
will be found in his work." — Stirling Observer. 

"His humorous and character sketches bristle with 
funny phrases and turns of thought. His love and 
pastoral pieces are especially successful. "—FifesMre 
Journal. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




